Wounded Birds
by pgrabia
Summary: When a clinic patient sends Wilson into a tailspin House decides to find out why. H/W pre-slash, pos. slash. Some Wilson/Sam & H/Cu. Spoilers up to S.6 Ep 22. Rated M for adult language and subject matter, violence  see A/N @ start of fic .
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Wounded Birds**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** : House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing(s):** House/Wilson Pre-slash

**Genre:** Angst, hurt/comfort.

**Word Count:** 2082

**A/N & Warnings:** Based on a prompt given to me by Christikat. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to George Stark II for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! Also posted at the House_Wilson community at LJ.

**Rating:** pg-13 for adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse.

**(~*~)**

Dr. Gregory House, Head of the Department of Diagnostic Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was in love with his best friend of nearly twenty years, Dr. James Wilson. He was also in a serious relationship with his boss and Dean of Medicine at PPTH, Dr. Lisa Cuddy. That didn't stop him from yearning after the affections of said best friend on a daily basis; if there was any such thing as soul-mates, which House highly doubted, Wilson was his—and he was pretty certain that he was Wilson's. The problem was, Wilson was either unaware of it, or in denial of it. Either way, House had found himself alone and in need of a stop-gap for his heart after being rejected once again by the most important person in his life. Cuddy had shown up just in time to be that person, and while he loved her, to be certain, he wasn't in love with her—not like he was with Wilson. If Wilson ever came to his senses and realized that he wanted the diagnostician as much as the diagnostician wanted him, House would have no difficulty leaving his current lover for him.

The problem was, Wilson, Head of Oncology, didn't want him, or at least, didn't let on that he did. No, he had Samantha Carr, his ex-wife/current live-in girlfriend to entertain him and spend every free moment with him and that didn't look like it was going to change soon. Perhaps it never would; in the meantime House would stay with the company he had, even if it wasn't the company he really wanted. A bird in the hand was worth two in the bush and that entire sort of nonsense. He would wait to see if things between his friend and the harpy of a girlfriend he had lasted; he honestly doubted it would. Even if it did, House wasn't certain it would make any difference in the way the oncologist felt for him. There was something deep inside the younger man, a pathology of sorts, that fed an obsession Wilson had for appearances, for being 'normal' and 'socially acceptable'—which meant respectable, professional, boring and one hundred percent all-American red-blooded heterosexual.

A glimpse into the pathology Wilson suffered from, and its possible cause, offered itself to House approximately six months into his turbulent on-again, off-again affair with his employer. It came in the form of a puzzle, and of course House, who lived to solve puzzles, couldn't resist seeking and working out the solution. Wilson's behavior and demeanor began to show symptoms of crumbling and threatened to bring the younger man to his knees. The diagnostician's motivation wasn't only to solve a mystery, but also to keep his friend, his love, from falling completely apart.

Wilson was always very responsible about completing his allotted 'volunteer' hours at the free clinic in PPTH. It was really involuntary; Dr. Lisa Cuddy had made it clear to all of the doctors employed by the hospital that the clinic was her baby and working in the clinic was an unofficial requirement of employment. House hated working in the clinic because it was monotonous and dealing with people was not his forte; when people were also idiots like most clinic patients were, he had absolutely no patience or bedside manner. He was hopelessly behind in clinic hours to the point where he would probably have to work the clinic five years after his death to catch up—and sleeping with Cuddy hadn't earned him any special privileges as far as that was concerned, either. Wilson, however, needed to be needed, and cutting corners on his rightful obligation in the clinic would look badly for him. Therefore, he made certain to complete his share faithfully every week. It was during such a session of indentured servitude that Wilson's breakdown of sorts began.

A teenage boy arrived at the clinic one day after school with his best friend; both boys were high school sophomores, 16 years of age. The patient, Drew, and his friend, Justin, waited nervously in the waiting room until Wilson finished with a previous patient and then called for Drew.

"Do you want me to come in with you or do you want to do this alone?" Justin, a tall, lanky blond asked the shorter, stockier redhead. Drew looked terrified and actually grabbed onto Justin's forearm to prevent him from leaving him alone.

"You come," Drew told him. Both boys followed Wilson into Exam Room Two. The oncologist watched them curiously, noting how closely they walked and the fact that Drew was still clutching his friend's arm for dear life even after they were both in the exam room and Wilson had shut the door.

"Good afternoon, Drew," Wilson greeted pleasantly, gesturing for the patient to hop onto the exam bench while he took a seat on a stool on wheels and Justin remained standing within arm's reach of his friend. "I'm Dr. Wilson. And you are?" He asked the friend.

"T-this is Justin," Drew told him, fearfully stammering and looking at the doctor furtively. "He's m-my…my…."

"I'm his boyfriend, Doctor," Justin said fearlessly, meeting Wilson's gaze with defiant eyes just begging him to make some kind of crack. The oncologist had no intentions of doing so; it wasn't his place to stand in judgment of other people's sexual preferences, even if they were still in high school.

"Okay," Wilson acknowledged with a nod. "What brings you here today, Drew?"

The boys exchanged looks, communicating silently. Drew looked like he was ready to bolt from the room but Justin grabbed his hand and then nodded encouragingly. The patient sighed and withdrew his hand from his friend's, and slowly lifted up his Henley top up and over his head, thus removing it. Wilson inhaled sharply at first, but quickly caught himself and forced a dispassionate demeanor. The boy's entire torso from his clavicle down to the waistline of his jeans was covered in bruises of varying shapes, sizes, colors and ages. Some were a faded brown or green but most of them were dark blue and a purplish-black. Some were fist-sized, others were clearly the imprints left behind by a pair of boots. Wilson stood up and circled around the bench, looking at Drew's back. Sure enough, it, too, was covered in contusions. There were obvious defensive injuries on his arms and hands earned when the teen had tried to ward off the blows flying his way. Strangely his face was devoid of any visible injury. Around his wrists were thin abrasions that ringed them. They looked very much like rope burns to the doctor.

Sighing, Wilson went over to the sink and washed his hands, then pulled on a pair of gloves and grabbed a stethoscope which he hung over his neck. He returned to the exam bench and instructed Drew to lie down on his back. With obvious pain the teen did so with a little help from his boyfriend.

"How did you get these injuries, Drew?" Wilson asked him as he began to gingerly palpate the young man's abdomen and watched for any reactions. "Or a better question would be, who gave you these injuries?"

"Does it matter?" Justin demanded sharply, a suspicious frown on his face.

"Yeah, it kind of does," the oncologist told him calmly. "This kind of assault on a person is very serious and has legal implications; also, Drew is a minor, which means I have no other choice but to call the police about this. His parents need to be notified as well."

"I told you we shouldn't have come," Drew spat at his boyfriend in fear. "Ahhrg!" he vocalized when Wilson pressed the upper left quadrant of his abdomen with moderate force. The sound plus the way the teen paled several shades and his face screwed up indicated quite a bit of pain there.

Frowning slightly Wilson pressed around the overly firm area that had caused the reaction. He measured off an area of pain based on Drew's yelps and moans. He didn't like it—the rigidity in the upper left and associated pain could be an indication of internal injuries—perhaps a splenic rupture.

"We had to come," Justin told him softly, looking down at Drew fondly. He then looked up beseechingly at Wilson. "Please, you can't call his parents! They—they don't know that Drew is dating me. If they find out that he's gay he'll end up a lot worse than this."

Wilson felt a tingle run down from the nape of his neck to his tailbone. A sense of uneasiness came over him and he forced himself to ignore it the best that he could.

"They already know," Drew announced reluctantly, much to Justin's surprise. "My dad beat the shit out of me when I told him."

"You told him?" Justin exclaimed, freaking out now. He began to move from foot to foot now in a strange anxiety jig, carding his fingers restlessly through his thick mane of hair. "Why in fuck's sake did you do that?"

"Elizabeth sent an e-mail to Jody and she told Mom and Dad, fucking little bitch," Drew answered breathily. "Dad confronted me when I got home from the library last night."

"Wait a minute," Wilson said, interjecting. "I've tuned in while the show was already in progress—who're Elizabeth and Jody?"

"Elizabeth is the girl I was dating before I met Justin," Drew explained weakly. "Her parents and my parents are friends and they thought it would be cute if we dated. I didn't even like her, obviously. When I broke up with her I didn't tell her it was because I was dating Justin. She found that out after she caught us kissing once and has been holding it over our heads ever since. I guess I did something to piss her off enough to finally squeal, so she told my sister, Jody, who told my parents. After that Dad took me out to the garage and beat the shit out of me. He tied my hands behind my back so I couldn't fight back. I meant to tell you, Justin, but I knew you'd be pissed. I've royally fucked up."

Wilson listened to his story and shook his head slowly in dismay, lost in his own thoughts. Here was this young man, being blackmailed and abused for being brave enough to be true to who he was, to take a stand. In return he got beaten unmercifully by the one man he's supposed to be able to trust to love and support him throughout his life. That's the way it was for being different, for not fitting in with the 'norm'. Sometimes one's own parents could be the enemy. Of course, it could be argued that Drew's father was only trying to illustrate to the boy the hardships he'd face for the rest of his life for choosing to live an alternative lifestyle. Wilson remembered his own father trying to drill through his head time and time again that sometimes love had to be tough, there were times when it had to hurt for his own good….

It wasn't until Justin put his hand on Wilson's shoulder and began shaking him that the doctor was jolted out of his thoughts and back to reality. He hadn't even heard the boy yelling at him or his patient's coughing up blood all over himself and the exam bench and floor. As soon as the oncologist was aware of what was going on outside of his own head he jumped to action, rolling Drew onto his side to prevent him from aspirating on the blood he was coughing up and out of his nose and mouth. He then ran out of the room and yelled to the reception desk to call the E.R. and have them send up a team and a stretcher, stat. He returned to the exam room, his mind sifting through the possibilities—broken ribs may have ruptured the lungs, edema from the blunt force trauma may be causing the expulsion of blood. The sooner he was rushed to the E.R. and treated accordingly the better.

Unfortunately it was out of the oncologist's hands now. This life-threatening turn of events meant that Drew's parents had to be notified without question; that, however, did not stop Wilson from calling the police and Child Protective Services as well. He hoped the authorities arrived before the parents did.

(TBC)


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Wounded Birds

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing(s):** House/Wilson Pre-slash, possible slash towards the end.

**Genre:** Angst, hurt/comfort.

**Word Count:** 2082

**A/N & Warnings:** Based on a prompt given to me by Christikat: House finds out that Wilson was abused as a child. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to George Stark II for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! Also posted at .

**Rating:** **T** for adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse (may become M towards the end).

**Chapter Two**

House was sitting in the conference room adjacent to his office, tediously trying to run a differential on a new patient of his with his team of idiots minus Thirteen, who had taken herself out of the game by leaving indefinitely, when he saw Wilson move tiredly past the glass wall on his way to his own office. What caught House's attention wasn't so much Wilson as what Wilson wore—there was a massive amount of blood all down the front of his white lab coat, dress shirt and expensive olive green and mustard yellow silk tie. House practically launched himself out of his chair, wincing slightly as his ruined thigh protested the sudden movement. He grabbed his cane from where it was hooked over the back of his chair and abandoned his useless team and boring case to follow his estranged friend. Wilson had already entered his office and shut the door by the time House reached it. The door was locked. House used his cane to pound repetitively and urgently on the wooden entry.

When there was no response from within, House's curiosity—and concern—peaked and he refused to be daunted. He returned to his office, ignoring the queries of his ducklings as he moved out to his balcony, crossed the barrier that separated Wilson's bbalcony from his and launched himself at Wilson's balcony door—only to be rebuffed. It was locked and the blinds within were drawn so he couldn't even see into the office. Frustrated, he began to rap hard on the glass with his cane.

"Wilson!" he called through the glass. "Open this up or I'll break the glass! At the count of three! One….two….thr-!"

The diagnostician heard the lock to the glass door click as it was released. House wasted no time getting inside Wilson's office…to find the younger doctor seated stiffly on his sofa, staring into space as if in deep thought. His arms were wrapped around himself. He'd removed the stained lab coat and hung it up but hadn't changed out of his gory shirt, although his tie had been unknotted and hung around his neck loosely. His face and neck were splattered with droplets of blood. Worse than the gore was the lost expression in the oncologist's eyes and the blank expression on his face. It was enough to strike fear into the heart of House.

"What happened?" House demanded, forgetting to hide his concern behind his carefully constructed mask of indifference. He approached Wilson quickly but the oncologist raised his hand to signal him to stop, which the older doctor amazingly did.

"I-It's not mine, House," Wilson told him quietly, stammering slightly. It was then that House noticed just how shaken and pale he looked under the drying drops and streaks of rust-red. His body was visibly trembling, his eyes beginning to dart around erratically. "It's from a clinic patient—a teenage boy. He was beaten by his father for being gay. Five broken ribs and two that are cracked, punctured lungs in three different places, hemothorax, coughing up blood everywhere, practically drowning on it and a splenic rupture to top it off."

"The blood—," House said quickly, "—did any of it get in your mouth, your eyes…were you contaminated at all?"

Wilson looked up at him absently and frowned he shook his head. "No, I don't know—it's not important! House, did you hear what I said? His father did that to him because he found out that he was _homosexual_."

"It _is_ important," House insisted as if he hadn't heard a word of what Wilson had said after that. He'd heard-he just didn't care about that at the moment; his concern was for his best friend's health first. "You need to clean up and begin the contamination protocol, just in case."

"Damn it!" Wilson suddenly screamed, rising to his feet and taking an angry step toward House before stopping himself. "There's a sixteen-year-old kid in emergency surgery right now; the surgeons are trying to put him back together before he bleeds to death—I don't care if I have a little blood on me!"

House took an involuntary step backwards and studied him closely in response to the unexpected ferocity of the oncologist's outburst. He was no longer trembling—he was now shaking from head to toe. His chocolate brown eyes were nearly black with emotion. His voice was quavering to the point where he was becoming difficult to comprehend and his breathing was rapid and deep. In short, House believed that Wilson was on the verge of a breakdown.

This was about more than just him witnessing an abused kid in trauma—a lot more. House was suddenly more concerned about Wilson's emotional health than he was his physical.

"Wilson, calm down," House said as soothingly as he knew how, which wasn't very. Wilson would not be sidetracked from his rant, however.

"See, this is where appearances _are_ important, House! You're always making fun of my concern about my appearance and my reputation—well, this is a great example of why I am!"

"Please, Wilson," House said to him, attempting again to calm him by uncharacteristically placing a comforting hand on the younger doctor's shoulder. Wilson recoiled from his touch as if House had just touched him with a white-hot cattle prod or something.

"Get your filthy hands off of me!" Wilson cried out, his face contorted by fear and disgust. "It's dangerous to be different, House! A normal, happy, and productive lifestyle—that's the only way to go. The only way! My father was right—he was right. That could've been me, thirty years ago, if I hadn't listened to him—if I hadn't taken his correction! I could be the one being beaten on for—for—for my perversions—."

Wilson stopped shouting suddenly and his eyes widened in shock as he realized what he'd just said. He began to hyperventilate and back away from House as if the diagnostician were the devil incarnate. House watched this with a combination of fascination and horror, his mind cycling through what he was hearing and seeing, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together for it to make sense.

"Wilson—stop!" House snapped a moment too late. Wilson marched out of his office. House followed him as quickly as his bad leg could carry him, which wasn't quickly at all. Since Wilson hadn't had time to even reach the elevators yet, much less call one and board it, the diagnostician deduced that the oncologist had taken the stairs. He nearly ran to the elevators, which was remarkable for a man with a crippled leg. He was quickly pounced on by Foreman, Chase and Taub as he passed by the Differential room.

"House," Foreman chastised as the diagnostician waited impatiently for an elevator car; he punched repeatedly at the call button with the end of his cane, "What about our patient?"

Sighing and rolling his eyes, House turned on him and snapped, "It's Thalassemia! It's been obvious from the start. I only took this case because Cud—!" He stopped himself short, took a deep breath and commanded more calmly, "Start transfusing her immediately." The elevator arrived and he sidestepped a couple of nurses disembarking as he stepped into the car and pressed the close button. The doors complied, cutting him off from the glares of the idiots he'd hired. He rubbed his face with his hand, his clean-shaven skin feeling strange to him; he hated shaving but Cuddy hated him looking 'slovenly'. He sighed heavily.

House knew by now that he wasn't going to catch Wilson before the younger doctor reached his car and drove away. Instead he stepped off of the elevator into the hospital's lobby and limped directly for Cuddy's office. He ignored his girlfriend's P.A. when he tried to stop him from disturbing her boss. He could see through the glass walls that the Dean of Medicine was busy with paperwork when she heard the disruption and looked up to see what it was. Upon seeing House she rolled her eyes, shook her head and gritted her teeth in anticipation.

"No," Cuddy told him as he passed through the door to her office and marched up to her desk. "Whatever it is you want to inflict on your patient today, House, the answer is no. I'm not in the mood for this and I have a thousand things to do before I can go home tonight. Which reminds me, Greg—?"

"No!" House returned back to her sharply. "_House_ doesn't want your permission for a procedure or test and _Greg_ can't hurry home to relieve the babysitter tonight. I just had a scary run-in with Wilson; he freaked out over an abused teenage clinic patient of his and has taken off. He's a danger to himself and other drivers right now. I have to go find him before he gets himself into trouble!"

"You're not going on a wild goose chase after Wilson, House," Cuddy told him with authority, rising to her feet and standing akimbo. She wasn't intimidated at all by the fact that he towered over her. "He's a grown man who can take care of himself, he doesn't need you. Besides, he has Sam—he's probably gone home to wait for her. She can take care of him if he needs help—that's not your place anymore. Your place is here at this hospital diagnosing and treating your patient—."

"Done," he told her.

"—and at home building _our_ relationship—."

"By being your built-in nursemaid," House retorted sarcastically. "I don't do Daddy-daycare; we've already been through all of this, Lisa. Watching Rachel occasionally I can handle, but my leaving early to relieve the babysitter is becoming a daily routine that I have no interest in continuing."

"Well obviously we have to go through it again," the Dean of Medicine told him, shaking her head in disapproval. "You promised that we would work together in making our relationship work. That requires give and take, Greg. I need to know that you'll be there for me when I need you. That's the only way we're going to work out."

"You don't need me to relieve the babysitter, Lisa," House told her, and surprisingly he didn't feel guilty about calling her on the issue this time. "You want me to go so you can save yourself some money and don't have to look for a new babysitter who'll watch Rachel for the entire time you agreed upon when she was hired. Tell me, while we're talking about give and take, what exactly have _you_ given _me_ lately?"

Cuddy cocked an eyebrow and smiled, but it was a smile that was laced with an admonishing under-edge. "Sex," she replied simply.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," House retorted a little more harshly than he intended, "but from all of the moaning and screaming you do, I was under the impression that I was giving you something then, too."

"House—," she began to say warningly, but the diagnostician continued as if she hadn't said a word.

"Since we've gotten together, I've given up my beard, the way I prefer to dress, my piano, time to spend with my best friend, the food I like to eat and the authority over which cases I choose to accept and which ones I don't." His voice was low, remarkably, but his growing anger and impatience was apparent by the way he clenched his fists vise-like and his slight trembling. He spoke through gritted teeth. "In return I've received a modicum of affection and sex when it's convenient for you or when you aren't punishing me for breaking one of your many rules and expectations. I've received nothing but criticism about my personal hygiene, the clothes I like to wear and the decisions I make at work as well as in my personal life. Who's the one being uncooperative here?"

"Greg, you asked me if I thought you could change," Cuddy defended, frowning with open anger and the tone of her voice sharp and unyielding. "You admitted that you were the most screwed up person in the world. I thought you wanted help; I thought you wanted our relationship to work. Was that just a lie to get me into bed? Is that all you've ever wanted from me?"

"I didn't ask you to come that night," House said, his voice rising a little, his cold blue eyes meeting hers. "You came of your own volition. You told me you loved me. I assumed that meant that you loved me the way I was, not the way you dreamt of making me become!"

"Well, at least I've told you that I love you!" she returned, nearly shouting now. "You have yet to even utter those three words to me. So do you, or don't you? Do you want this relationship, Greg; because part of that includes responsibility and reliability, remember?"

"Oh, I remember," House answered bitingly. "It's my _responsibility_ to cave to your every demand and if I don't then you _reliably_ remind me of how I'm failing in my half of this relationship. The rules are set by you, policed by you, and judged by you. I've barely been able to add my two cents about our so-called relationship!"

"I can't _believe_ you!" Cuddy told him incredulously. "All I'm asking is that you make Rachel and me your first priority. Lucas did…!" Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened as soon as the offending comparison had left her lips; the look of hurt and rage on the diagnostician's face was enough to make the varnish on her antique desk peel. "House—Greg—I didn't mean to say that—," she quickly proclaimed but House was already on his way to the door. He stopped just inside and turned back to glare at her.

"Then ask Lucas to relieve the babysitter tonight," he told her coldly, his voice deep and hard with rancor. "Better yet, ask him to take you back—I'm obviously not going to ever be the man you really want unless I betray who I really am to make this work. I'm not Lucas, Lisa, and I never want to be. Love me for who I am, or be honest about it so I know it's time to end this before we both grow to hate each other!"

"Greg!" Cuddy cried after him but House was already out of the door. Nearly every eye in the clinic was focused on her; the room fell unnaturally silent. She squirmed a little under their scrutiny but hid her discomfort quickly by snapping at everyone, "Doesn't anybody here have something they should be doing?"

Cuddy turned on her heel and marched back into her office, holding her head up high as she did.

Meanwhile, House returned to his office to grab his jacket, helmet, and backpack before heading down to his motorcycle. Trying to banish his churning emotions and spinning thoughts, he chose to focus on Wilson instead. He knew that even in an emotional state, Wilson wouldn't be caught dead in public covered in blood the way he was. He would head home to shower and change before doing anything else.

With an irritated sigh, House headed for the loft first, taking Wilson's usual route and hoping that Sam wasn't there when he got there; he hated that bitch.

**(TBC…)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Wounded Birds

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing(s):** House/Wilson Pre-slash

**Genre:** Angst, hurt/comfort.

**Word Count:** 3392

**A/N & Warnings:** Based on a prompt given to me by Christikat: House finds out that Wilson was abused as a child. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to George Stark II for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! Also posted at .

**Rating: T** for adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse.

(~*~)

Chapter Three

Wilson barely flinched when he heard the sound of several horns being honked by angry drivers around him as he wove his car from one lane to another recklessly. Twice he cut other vehicles off and nearly clipped the backend of another. Traffic on the freeway was relatively heavy, which only increased the carelessness of his driving.

I have to get home. I have to get home. That thought kept running through his head like a marquee, over and over again. He couldn't believe he had done what he had, said what he had, and it wasn't just because it had occurred in front of House; he'd never so much as breathed a word of what had happened to him so many years ago to another living being—not to any of his wives or lovers, not even to Amber and certainly not to Sam. That kid's plight had really gotten to him and now he found himself fleeing, just wanting to hide from both House and himself. The former had always been harder to avoid than the latter.

For most of his life Wilson had been able to compartmentalize his mind in order to keep himself sane. The memories from his life before college were kept in a safe locked up tight and buried in the depths of his mind. He'd managed to keep it relatively secured away for years as he finished pre-med and med school. Then…he'd met a certain rebellious, devil-may-care, handsome, older doctor in a jailhouse in New Orleans and that mental compartment had lost some of its security.

Wilson had immediately been fascinated by Gregory House; there had been a physical attraction he had immediately tamped down out of reflex, but his personality, his incredible intelligence, and his powers of observation had drawn the younger man in like a moth to a flame. His new friend's disdain and disregard for appearances and for what other people thought about him was perhaps the most attractive quality. Wilson had learned from early childhood by both word and observation that it was important how one looked in public. Respectability and image were the pillars of the Wilson home. He never did anything odd, out of place or questionable in public because he didn't want to face the wrath of his parents if he did. The family reputation, the family honor—these were more important than truth, originality and self. Being the normal, good son, the oncologist had felt smothered and out of place throughout his childhood and meeting someone who didn't care about any of that was like an oasis in a vast desert.

The further in Wilson had been drawn to House and the stronger the emotional intimacy between the two of them had grown, the harder it had been to deny the physical attraction, though the younger doctor had certainly done his damnedest and for the most part had been able to keep the monster in its cage. Whenever he had felt like he was losing the power struggle, he'd sought out female companionship to remind himself that he was attracted to women, that he loved women and loved to make love to women, and in truth, he did. It had usually worked, for a while, but eventually he'd become bored with them and had felt himself inexorably drawn back to his enigmatic friend.

The oncologist was also an all or nothing kind of guy. He wasn't the type to engage in superficial relationships. He needed committed relationships; being in love was as essential to him as breathing. Knowing that there was someone at home every night to care for and to care for him held his feet on solid ground, gave him a sense of stability.

As a middle child he'd often felt invisible and neglected by his parents, especially when Danny had begun to show abnormalities and his older brother had been a rebellious jerk. The Wilsons had been so busy trying to deal with the other two that James, perhaps the most 'normal' of their three sons, had been forgotten about. Needing to be acknowledged and affirmed, he'd pushed himself in school to excel and had helped out around the house and with Danny to a level unheard of for boys his age. These things had brought him a modicum of attention and praise from his parents, but it always had been temporary and before long he'd find himself being ignored again.

Unfortunately, there had been other things about him—perversions, as his paternal grandfather had called them—that had drawn negative attention once he reached adolescence. To cure him of these unwanted, 'abnormal,' innate tendencies, his father had used 'tough love' and a very heavy hand. When that hadn't stopped Wilson's behavior by the time he was fifteen, his parents had sent him to 'camp'.

Camp had been hell. Camp had taught him to compartmentalize and to deny. Camp had molded him into a responsible, respectable and red-blooded Jewish man. It had spared him the humiliation of being different; it had spared his parents' reputation as well. He'd returned to the status of the good son, the son with hope and potential for a successful future after his brothers had failed his parents and themselves (well, Danny hadn't been able to help it; he'd been born with the genes that condemned him to schizophrenia). For the first time he'd been the one who received the praise, the admiration and the love of his mom and dad. Dad had been right—camp had been his salvation.

Hell and salvation. It made Wilson's head spin.

Wilson had come to the point where his attraction to House had overrode his desire for women and when he'd realized that, he had known he had to do something about it, but he'd had no idea what. He hadn't wanted his perversions to disrupt his respectability, disappoint his parents, and drive away the most important person to him, his best friend.

That's when he'd met Amber Volakis. She'd been beautiful, intelligent, and independent—so very different from his three ex-wives and needy lovers. The more he'd gotten to know her, the more he'd felt drawn to her in a way that was similar to the way he'd been drawn to House. She'd been female, she had been allowable. When House had pointed out that Amber was just like the diagnostician, Wilson had been struck with the understanding of why he'd been drawn to her more than he had been to the other women in his life. She'd allowed him to love what was like House while being with a woman. It hadn't been perfect, especially since the original source of his attraction still had been in his life, battling with Amber over Wilson's company, but it had worked. It had been safe and he'd been happy. He really had been.

That is, until she'd died. His heart had been broken. Initially he had been angry with House and had blamed him. Wilson had recalled every hurtful thing that House had done to keep himself from acknowledging the real reason he'd felt it necessary to quit his job and toss House out of his life. As time without the diagnostician in his life had passed, the truth simply hadn't been extinguished or denied; he'd left because he loved House, wanted and needed him. He'd almost caused this man to die and had been afraid that if he really did lose him someday, his life would crumble even more than it had with Amber's loss.

The attraction, the need—the love—had been too strong to resist forever. Hence his agreement with House's mother to make certain he got to his father's funeral. It had been a convenient excuse to spend time with the older man again without having to come clean with himself that he hadn't been doing it as a favor to Blythe but rather as a favor to himself.

A person really couldn't choose his friends—or rather, the person he fell in love with. Of course, denial had prevented him from consciously accepting that. He'd kept the monster at bay until House returned from Mayfield really trying to improve himself and overcome his own demons. The changes Wilson had seen happening in his friend had only intensified his love for him and it had become nearly impossible for him to deny how he really felt. That moment when House had sat down in front of the organ Wilson had bought just for him and had given the younger man that long look—the one that had convinced him that House loved and wanted him as much if not more than he wanted him—the oncologist had known that there was no way he could fight this anymore without another distraction.

So Wilson had begun to look for one, flirting with all of the available women he'd met, most of them more than willing nurses from his own department. Of course, being who he was, Wilson hadn't been interested in one or two night stands. That's when he'd lucked out; Sam had contacted him via Facebook. She'd been lonely and desperate for companionship for reasons all her own, most of which he didn't know and didn't have any interest in knowing. Now she was his distraction, his salvation from himself and she couldn't have shown up at a better time. He'd clung onto her and rushed things with her out of necessity—not that she hadn't been just as anxious. He did care for her deeply—perhaps he even loved her a little, but more importantly she helped him to avoid giving in to his perversions. She was his ticket to a normal, respectable life—something that he knew he would never have with House.

He hadn't meant to hurt House by focusing his energies on Sam and pushing him away. He still wanted to be his friend, but the intimacy that had been developing between him and House had to be stopped—for both of their sakes. He hadn't foreseen Cuddy's sudden change of heart concerning House or that they actually would begin a relationship that appeared to be getting more intimate all of the time, not that Wilson could blame House any. He deserved to find some happiness and if he couldn't find it with Wilson then he had a right to seek it out somewhere else.

That hadn't stopped the jealousy that had been growing constantly since he'd found out about them, nor had it stopped the growing dissatisfaction he was feeling for his own relationship with Sam. He'd begun to miss House, especially now that the older doctor was no longer stalking him or trying to interfere in his love life. The monster had been rattling its cage again, loosening the bolts holding the prison together.

Enter Drew and Justin. Exit the last bolt. The monster was out and was rampaging; hence his unbelievable lapse of judgment that had led to his freak out around House. The diagnostician was the antithesis of oblivious or naïve. He'd be able to figure out what was behind Wilson's words. When he did, all hell would break loose. House would confront him about it and wouldn't let it go until his curiosity was satisfied and the puzzle solved. What would happen then? Would the older man reject him and end any semblance of a friendship they had left or would he jump at the chance to take the next step in their relationship and throw Wilson's image out the window?—because Wilson knew that he wouldn't be able to deny his feelings for House any longer if he did.

So deeply in thought with all of this was Wilson that he didn't notice that the light was red as he blasted through it. The screeching of tires and blaring of horns alerted him too late to do anything to avoid t-boning the minivan that had been going on its rightful way through a green. He cried out at the last second and instinctively braced himself against the steering wheel. The world in front of him exploded into flying glass, the crunching of metal and the failure of his air bag to inflate when it should have. He heard his own scream, felt searing pain that seemed to be originating from every part of his body all at once which overloaded the neural pathways in his brain.

**(~*~)**

Wilson realized he must have passed out. He tried to open his eyes but they wouldn't open, causing him a moment of terror. He automatically tried to reach for his face but found his left arm pinned and his right arm screamed at him when he tried to move it. His chest hurt horribly and he could barely breathe. He couldn't feel anything from his waist down. It took him a few minutes to realize that he'd been in a car accident and that he couldn't breathe because the Volvo's steering wheel was pushed up hard against his diaphragm. It took a few more minutes before he noticed the sound of agonized groaning and that it was coming from him, which only served to make him more terrified. His respiration rate rose a little, but he felt very short of breath. He felt sweaty and weak and besides the pain in his chest and abdomen he felt extremely nauseous.

The sound of sirens permeated the fog in his head, as did the voices of a gathering crowd. He wished he could see what was going on, then thought again and realized that maybe he was better off being blinded if the gasps and cries of onlookers was any indication of the severity of his situation.

He swallowed thickly; he tasted something metallic and realized that it was his blood as it ran down his face in rivulets and dripped onto his lips along the way. How badly was he bleeding? Why couldn't he feel his lower body? Spinal injury? Aortic dissection? Was he going to end up a paraplegic?

He felt a hand touch his shoulder, perhaps one of the only places on his body that didn't cause him agony.

"Easy," the familiar voice said. It was strained and raspy. "It's going to be okay, Wilson. The fire department is here. They'll get you out of here soon and you'll be taken to the hospital where we'll patch you up. It's going to be…alright."

Wilson turned his face toward the voice only to have the hand leave his shoulder and then two hands hold his head still.

"Don't move!" the voice snapped. "You may have a spinal injury."

"House?" Wilson asked, and was surprised at the weakness and breathiness of his own voice. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, Wilson," he replied softly. "It's me. Shh! Just be quiet, conserve your strength, okay? It's going to be alright."

"What…what are you doing…here?" the oncologist murmured; it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe.

"I was coming to protect you from yourself," House told him and Wilson imagined that he had his characteristic smirk on his face. "Guess I got here a little late."

Wilson began to cough and then gasp for breath between them.

"I need a bag and mask over here now!" House shouted over his shoulder to unseen persons behind him. "I also need a cervical collar! Hurry up, damn it!"

"It's going to be alright," House soothed again, turning his attention back to the oncologist. "Just try to relax. The paramedics are coming. I'm going to move to give them access to you."

"Don't leave me!" Wilson gasped desperately.

"I'm not," the older doctor assured him. "I'll be right here."

"I can't feel my lower body," Wilson told him and started to cry softly in spite of himself. "I…I can't seem to get enough…air. I'm…I'm…nauseous and the pain…a tearing pain…It…it hurts!"

"I know," House said softly; he struggled to sound calm but Wilson knew it was just an act. His pianist's fingers trembled as they held his head in place. "Just hold on…we'll get you out and give you something for the pain. Try to relax. You're wearing yourself out."

"Possible spinal cord damage," Wilson continued with his own DDx, "or…or partial aortic…dissection…."

"We won't know anything for certain until we get you out of there," House told him firmly but there was no anger in his voice. "Stop playing doctor—right now you're the patient."

Wilson felt House remove his hands from his head briefly. The sound of another person approaching him startled the oncologist. He could feel smaller, steadier hands take over, putting a collar on him to protect the integrity of his spine in his neck.

"House!" Wilson cried out in terror. "House!"

"I'm right here, Wilson," he heard the diagnostician say from outside the vehicle.

"Don't leave me!"

"I'm not going anywhere," he said a little more firmly. "Shut up—you need to calm down, Wilson. I'm not leaving your side."

"Hello, Dr. Wilson," a female voice told him from where House's voice had come earlier. "My name is Belinda and I'm a paramedic. I'm placing a cervical collar on you to protect your spine. In a moment I'll be placing a mask over your face and will be bagging you some supplemental air to help you breathe; as soon as you're free from the car and the risk of a spark or fire has been eliminated the bag will be replaced by a tank of oxygen. I'll be inserting an I.V. into your wrist and will give you some saline to prevent shock. I can't give you any narcotics for the pain because you hit your head hard and there may be trauma done to your brain. Have you got any questions?"

"Yes," he sputtered, "no…I don't know." He felt confused.

She placed a comforting hand where House had moments earlier. "That's understandable. Just try to relax as much as possible. We're going to take good care of you."

Wilson nodded as much as he could with the collar on, which wasn't much at all. He endured the things the paramedic was doing to him. She calmly talked him through it as she went along, which went a long way toward calming him. Still, occasionally he called out to House. He needed to hear his voice, to know that he was still there. House continued to reassure him, showing uncharacteristic patience; Wilson knew he had to be in worse shape than he felt, and he felt damned awful.

"Okay, Dr. Wilson," Belinda told him. "I'm just about done here for now. Dr. House will stay with you and operate the bag. The fire department is here. The damage to the car makes it impossible for us to extract you from the car normally. They're going to have to cut through the metal to free you—don't worry; they've done this before, unfortunately. They know what they're doing. You're in good hands."

"Okay," Wilson said through the air mask over his mouth, but he wasn't okay—at all. Despite the pain and fear, he was feeling really weak and sleepy. He didn't want to fall asleep; he was afraid that he wouldn't wake up again if he did.

"House," Wilson gasped, panicky. "Talk to me. I don't…want to fall…asleep."

"What do you want to talk about?" House asked, sounding slightly irritated. The younger man knew that House was out of his element when it came to comforting others. The fact that he had been doing so since he arrived was lost on the older man.

"I never…asked you…why," Wilson told him, growing groggier.

"Why what?"

"Why you and Cuddy…got together…I…thought you two…were over each…other," Wilson said even as his mind began to drift.

House sighed. "This really isn't the time to talk about this," he told him quietly.

Wilson swallowed thickly again. "I…we might not…have another…."

"Don't!" House snapped harshly. "Don't do that! You're going to be alright. There will be plenty of time. Don't wimp out on me now."

"I can't…I need to tell you…," Wilson murmured, "I need to tell you that…that I…that I love you, House. Just…just in case…I…." Wilson's voice faded off but his lips formed the last of his sentence. He couldn't stay awake any longer. The last thing he heard was what sounded like a giant chainsaw roaring to life.

**(TBC…)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** **Wounded Birds**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing(s):** House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash

**Genre:** Angst, hurt/comfort.

**Word Count:** 2082

**A/N & Warnings:** Based on a prompt given to me by Christikat: House finds out that Wilson was abused as a child. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to George Stark II for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! Also posted at the House_Wilson at livejournal (dot)com.

**Rating: T (may be M later on)** for adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse.

**(~*~)**

**Chapter Four**

"Wilson?" House said quickly as his friend lapsed into unconsciousness. The diagnostician's heart beat wildly against his ribs, or so it felt, when he didn't get a response. He was afraid that Wilson had been right, that this could have been their last chance to talk; House might have given up his last chance to tell his friend just exactly how he felt for him.

"Hey, Doc!" he heard someone shout overtop the roar of the Jaws of Life. He was thankful for the interruption of his morbid thoughts. "You have to get out of the way now! One of our guys will continue to vent him."

House nodded once, surrendering the bag to a baby-faced firefighter; he reluctantly limped away from the Volvo, moving towards the waiting ambulance to watch the extrication from there. Out of the corners of his eyes he could see the police in attendance questioning the driver, the only occupant of the other vehicle who appeared to be unscathed by the incident; Wilson's car had struck her vehicle on the passenger side behind the front bucket seats. The side had been pushed in as the Volvo's front end crumpled in as it was designed to do. The driver's seat appeared pristine except for the air bags and the powder that had puffed out of them when they had inflated. The van had been pushed sideways a fair distance before spinning around to face the direction from where it had come.

Wilson's front airbag had failed to go off. If it had, he wouldn't be in as bad of shape as he was. In his panic to flee as quickly as he could, the oncologist had forgotten to do up his seatbelt and he had gone flying forward into the windshield; he'd broken through it and had cut up his forehead and the top of his head pretty badly before he had been forced back into the seat. It was a miracle that he hadn't been hurt worse. There was no sign of lacerations on or immediately around his eyes, though he must have hit them at some point because both were swollen shut and well on their way to being purplish-black. The engine block had dropped some but not completely, so part of it was rammed into the front seats, effectively pinning Wilson at waist level. The fact that he couldn't feel the bottom half of his body was terrifying but not all that unexpected; only time would tell whether the lack of sensation was due to a severance of the spinal cord or simply a pinching or 'bruising' of it, or a form of neural shock that would eventually correct itself. Aside from those, the only other visible injury so far was the compound fracture of his right humerus. Internal injuries were, of course, invisible to the naked eye and could be life threatening.

Speed in cutting him out of there was of utmost importance.

It was almost painful to watch the effort that went into cutting open and tearing apart the steel form of the car in order to rescue the trapped man inside of it and it seemed to House to take forever. His leg was aching but he barely noticed it; his focus was on the rescue. Belinda, the paramedic, walked up and stood a couple of feet away from him. Her face was impassive, but the look in her eyes spoke of her experience at standing around impatiently waiting for this process to be complete. It was strangely comforting to have her, a total stranger, standing there next to him, silently showing both support and concern not only for Wilson but also for him.

House cursed softly, catching her attention.

"A good friend of yours?" she inquired simply.

"My best friend," House answered, his voice deep and gravelly. Why he was talking to her, he didn't know.

She nodded with empathy and then after a few moments told him, "They're almost done." She left his side to join her EMT partner with the stretcher as it was wheeled closer to the car, prepared to catch Wilson once he was liberated.

He realized that he hadn't contacted anyone about this yet. He pulled out his cell phone and checked the signal strength and battery power. Fortunately he'd remembered to charge it the night before; he often didn't. He pressed speed dial as he strode back towards his bike where he had left it in the middle of the street a few yards behind the destroyed Volvo.

"Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital," a pleasant voice answered the phone. "Dr. Cuddy's office. How may I—?"

"It's House," he snapped at the Dean of Medicine's personal assistant. He was new—House couldn't remember his name and he didn't care. "Get Cuddy on the phone, now."

"Please hold," the glorified secretary told him, sounding a lot less pleasant than originally. The diagnostician cursed at having to 'hold'; Cuddy had decided recently that she was too busy to be answering her own phone all the time and once she had hired yet another P.A. to replace the one that had quit suddenly (and this time it wasn't House's fault) she was having him answer it for her. It was a pain in the ass as far as House was concerned and he suspected it was more of a status issue than one of efficiency. He remember her saying during foreplay not too long ago that other hospital administrators had someone else to screen their calls so she should have someone as well.

Needless to say, that had killed the mood for Little Greg and they'd had a 'discussion' about shop talk while they were fucking. Not that it had changed much—she still did from time to time, making House question whether or not she was actually paying attention during their 'lovemaking' sessions at all. He hated playing second fiddle to the needs of the clinic schedule or the next conference call.

"What do you want, House?" Cuddy came onto the line sounding irritated. "I have a presentation to complete for the board meeting tomorrow."

"So sorry to disturb you," he said with more venom than he'd intended, "but I thought you might like to know that your Head of Oncology has been in a serious car accident and is being extricated from what's left of his car as we speak!"

"Oh my god," Cuddy said breathlessly, her tone changing. "Is he…he…?"

"He's still alive, but barely," House's voice had softened as well, cracking; it held barely restrained fear. He briefly explained the basics of what had happened as he watched the last piece of the roof of the car being hoisted away. "We're still closest to Plainsboro," he told her.

"I'll have the ER staff notified and ready," she told him. "Greg, are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah," he lied, feeling a lump form in his throat. He didn't want her pity or phony concern for Wilson's plight. He swallowed hard. "I gotta go."

"Wait!" he heard Cuddy say before he could hang up. "I'll call Sam. She should be home by now."

"No," House answered, frowning. A huge part of him didn't want the harpy to know that Wilson was hurt; he didn't want to have to suffer her fawning all over the oncologist as if she was the most devoted girlfriend in the world. He still had that gut feeling that he'd had the day he found out Wilson was dating his ex-wife that she was bad news, that she had ulterior motives he hadn't been able to uncover—yet—and eventually she was going to end up breaking Wilson's heart again.

However, he knew that she had to be informed, especially since Wilson had replaced the diagnostician with Sam as his medical proxy shortly after she had moved into the loft.

"I'll call her," House informed her. He hung up without another word.

The paramedics were right inside the Volvo now with a backboard ready helping the firefighters lift Wilson's limp body carefully out of the wreckage. House walked his motorcycle to a nearby parking lot and parked it there. He hated the idea of just leaving it unattended, but Wilson was by far more important to him than what amounted to little more than a pile of metal and rubber. House limped as quickly as he could towards the Volvo and reached there just as they were done strapping Wilson to the backboard and carefully transferring him to the stretcher. A mask attached to a portable oxygen tank replaced the bag and mask they had been using to ventilate him. He moved in to stand at Wilson's side. Without a word Belinda handed him a stethoscope as her partner strapped Wilson and the backboard onto the stretcher.

His best friend was unconscious. House tore open Wilson's shirt, which was bloodied, buttons flying every which direction as Belinda forced his swollen eyelids open and checked his eyes with a pen light.

"Pupils fixed and dilated," she announced to no one in particular.

House heard her but didn't respond. Instead he was listening to Wilson's heart and lungs. He was tachycardic—one hundred and twenty-eight beats per minute. There was also a slight heart murmur and the sound of fluid accumulation and congestion in his lungs, causing the shortness of breath and panting. All of that with the sweating and Wilson's own description of feeling a tearing pain was adding up to what the oncologist had already self-diagnosed—a partial aortic dissection at or near the aortic valve creating a back-flow of blood through the heart (causing the murmur) and into the lungs, as some of the blood leaked into the thoracic cavity, forming the hemothorax; this congestion threatened Wilson's heart's ability to beat and his lungs to expand.

If they didn't get Wilson to the hospital inside ten minutes, he would die.

Belinda had been adjusting the IV and attaching the heart monitor leads during this.

"Tachycardic, rapid breath sounds," House told her as they began to rush the stretcher toward the ambulance. "Slight murmur and probable hemothorax. His aorta has been partially dissected and blood is filling his chest. We have to get to Plainsboro in less than ten minutes or he's dead." Hearing himself say that about his best friend caused House's throat to constrict and his mouth to dry out. "Do you carry whole blood?"

"O-negative," Belinda confirmed, "and plasma and saline."

They reached the ambulance where the rear doors were already open and a third medic waited to accept the stretcher as they loaded it into the ambulance. Belinda and House climbed in after it and the EMT that had been with them outside slammed the doors shut and ran around to the cab, jumping in behind the wheel. Belinda and the second EMT began to attach wires to the leads on Wilson's body and measure his BP. A pulse oximeter was clipped to Wilson's left index finger. The ambulance was quickly in motion, siren wailing plaintively.

"I need a unit of o-negative and another on standby if you've got it," House ordered. "Full open bore. I also need a kit to insert a chest tube."

"Cabinet behind you," Belinda told him as the EMT grabbed the blood from the small built in cooler. House turned around and opened the cabinet directly behind him and pulled out a couple of plastic wrapped kits. Finding one for a chest tube and an adequate tube to use, he shut the cabinet. Before he even opened the package Belinda had thrown a pair of nitrile gloves and a tube of hand sanitizer at him. He nodded in thanks and rubbed some of the sanitizing gel around his hands, then pulled the gloves on over his unscrubbed hands—it was better than nothing.

"BP is ninety-eight over fifty six and dropping," she announced as she attached the line to the plasma and opened it up completely. The heart monitor was online and giving them a reading of one hundred and thirty-two BPM and his oxygen saturation was eighty-one per cent. It all added up to a fucking mess, House thought as he swore under his breath. The EMT was cutting off what remained of Wilson's clothing with a large pair of shears while House was swabbing the area for the incision with first an alcohol wipe then a Betadine one that left the area stained a brownish orange. He picked up the scalpel and brought it to Wilson's side. His hands trembled slightly. This wasn't just some idiot patient that he didn't know and didn't want to know; this was Wilson, and he had to cut into his friend's body. He glanced up to see Belinda watching him. She met his gaze and nodded her support and confidence in him.

He thanked her with a nearly imperceptible nod, took a deep breath and focused. He willed his hand to be still and quickly but perfectly made the incision between two ribs and through the chest wall into the thoracic cavity, then took the tube and carefully pushed it through the incision and into place. Free blood began to drain out of Wilson's chest through the tube and onto the floor. Belinda grabbed a basin seemingly out of nowhere and handed it to House, who placed it in line with the tube to capture the blood. Almost instantly Wilson's breath-sounds improved, as did his color and oximeter reading. He wasn't out of the woods yet, however. He was still bleeding out of his aorta, the main artery of the body. His BP was continuing to fall and his heart rate was still too rapid and arrhythmic.

"Faster," House murmured. "Go faster."

With nothing more he could do at the moment but remain hyper-vigilant, House pulled out his cell phone and dialed up the loft, steeling himself for what he had to do. The phone rang a couple of times before it was answered.

"Hello, this is Dr. Carr speaking," Wilson's live-in girlfriend and the diagnostician's supplanter answered in her annoyingly sweet voice. Phony, House thought immediately. She sounded phony.

"It's House," he told her.

"James isn't home from work yet," Sam told him, the tone of her voice changing perceptibly from sweetness to disdain. "And yes, he is busy tonight—."

"Samantha, shut up and listen!" House snapped impatiently. He'd never used her proper name before and doing so must have shocked her into silence. He continued. "Wilson has been in a car wreck; he's…in bad shape. I'm with him in the ambulance and we're en route to PPTH as I speak. You might want to get your bony ass down there a.s.a.p. I can't guarantee…anything."

Before Sam could ask any questions or comment House ended the call and put his cell phone back into his jacket pocket. He cursed himself for calling her at all, but Wilson cared for her and would want her to know what had happened, so he'd notified her for his best friend's sake only. His eyes were stinging and he felt very close to losing it just then. Just a couple of months before he'd been riding in an ambulance just like this one with Hannah, desperately wanting to save her but unable to. He couldn't bear the idea of the same thing happening again, only to Wilson this time; that would drive him out of his mind and there was no form of therapy that would be able to help him.

He felt a hand touch his arm softly and looked up at Belinda. They stared at each other for a moment in silence. She gave his arm an additional little squeeze before withdrawing her hand again and returning her attention to Wilson. She began to squeeze the bag of blood, trying to force it into Wilson as quickly as possible. House sighed silently, grateful for the understated comforting he'd just received. The only other sounds were those of the monitors operating and the EMT on the radio reporting their current status ahead to the ER. Reaching out House gently clasped one of Wilson's limp hands and held onto it for the rest of the trip.

**(TBC…)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: Wounded Birds**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing(s):** House/Wilson Pre-slash (possible slash later on)

**Genre:** Angst, hurt/comfort.

**Word Count:** 3232

**A/N & Warnings:** Based on a prompt given to me by **Christikat**: _House finds out that Wilson was abused as a child_. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to **George Stark II** for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! Also posted at House_Wilson on LJ.

**Rating: T** for adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse. (Possible **M** later)

**(~*~)**

**Chapter Five**

Just a block away from Princeton-Plainsboro James Wilson's heart began to fibrillate. As the ambulance entered the bay just outside of the Emergency Room, a trauma team waited to receive him and rush him inside for immediate intervention. Lisa Cuddy stood just off to the side, hugging herself, waiting out of the way of the action that was about to spring to life. As the rear doors were opened she could hear the whine of the heart monitor before she saw House and the ambulance crew shocking the Head of Oncology with a defibrillator. Wilson's body lurched upward in response to the electricity coursing through it. There was no response on the heart monitor. House cursed and then told the paramedic to charge two-fifty.

Cuddy felt like her heart had dropped into her stomach; she gasped and unconsciously held her breath as she watched the desperate attempt to restart Wilson's heart. This couldn't be happening—it couldn't. She was a doctor; everybody in that ambulance bay had watched patients die, but this time it was different because this wasn't just another patient. TTThis was a well-respected and loved member of the hospital staff and a man she considered to be her friend.

"Clear!" House warned as he placed the paddles he held against Wilson's bare chest. He depressed the button on one of them and another shot of energy entered the oncologist's body. All were quiet as they waited hopefully for a positive result. There was a weak blip from the monitor followed slowly by another and then another. Wilson's heart began to beat again.

The Dean of Medicine exhaled in relief, as did a few other staffers on hand. House handed over the paddles to the EMT on the ambulance with the paramedic and him. No time was wasted in getting the stretcher out of the vehicle and rolling it quickly up the ramp and into the E.R. House was the last one to disembark, refusing help. Cuddy went to him rather than following Wilson and the trauma team inside.

The diagnostician looked much older than his fifty-one years from the strain of the past few minutes and the unsuccessfully hidden worry creasing his face even more than it already was. He looked exhausted, pale, and shaken. When she grabbed his arm to steady him he didn't shrug her off as he was wont to doing, which was a sign of just how shocked he really was. She felt his body tremble as they went into the E.R.

"What happened?" Cuddy asked him in concern. She hadn't seen him like this since the night of the crane disaster and it was unsettling.

House just shook his head, so she pressed the issue and he finally gave in and spoke. He told her about following Wilson's usual route home only to end up in a traffic snarl due to an accident, which, after a few moments, had become evident involved Wilson's Volvo, or what was left of it. He told her about the condition he'd found his best friend in, about the agonized moans and Wilson's fear. He described how the oncologist had had to be cut out of his vehicle and the last harrowing two minutes of the ambulance ride when Wilson's heart had begun to fibrillate and then stop beating altogether. Uncharacteristically the words came tumbling out and he didn't even try to hold it all back. Cuddy listened quietly as he spoke; House was barely whispering as they ended up at Wilson's trauma bay where the ER staffers were battling with death for possession of the man.

Cuddy half-expected House to go running into the bay and take over command of Wilson's care from the 'incompetents' but the diagnostician surprised her by standing back and allowing the highly trained trauma team to do what they did best. His eyes never wandered, not even for a fraction of a second, from the seemingly chaotic but actually carefully choreographed and practiced dance taking place over and around Wilson's unconscious form. She imagined that she saw the events House had just described going around and around in his mind's eye, tormenting him. She watched him shake his head as if his mind was an Etch-a-Sketch and he could erase those memories by doing so.

In an effort to comfort him, Cuddy wrapped one of her arms around his waist and began to stroke his arm gently. House looked down at her with a frown and pulled himself out of her embrace as if she had some form of contact-communicable Ebola.

"Greg, don't pull away from me," she told him gently, reaching out to him again only to have him take several steps away from her, shaking his head.

"We're _not_ doing this now," he told her sharply, glowering balefully. "If I hadn't had to waste time arguing with you about following him I might have been able to stop this from happening somehow."

"Don't you try to blame me for this!" Cuddy returned angrily, but she kept the volume of her voice down. "Wilson should have known better than to drive while he was that upset!"

House had no argument for that; she was right. He shouldn't have gotten behind the wheel of his car in the state he'd been in. He'd endangered not only his life but the lives of every other person on the road with him, including the driver of the minivan Wilson had run into. That fact did not, however, mitigate Cuddy's guilt in House's mind and only served to make him more resentful.

"Go back to your office, Cuddy," he told her with hard eyes and a cold voice. "At least you're a _little_ useful there."

Stunned into silence, the Dean of Medicine just stood there for at least a minute, staring at her (former?) lover with her mouth open. How had things between them changed so quickly? Just that morning they had made love before getting ready for work. Was he really angry enough about her wanting him to do his job rather than run after his friend on a wild goose chase to push her away and treat her with such…such…hatred?

House was no longer looking in her direction—his total focus was on the younger man whose life was teetering on the brink of nothingness. House watched longingly, worry and pain clearly evident on his face; he didn't even pretend to repress his emotions at this point.

Seeing the diagnostician watch the oncologist the way he was sent a chill down Cuddy's spine and spawned a little green monster where her heart should have been. In that moment she realized that House and she had never had a chance in hell of making their relationship work. There was only one doctor in House's life that he was in love with, and it wasn't her. She had been convenient, making herself available when Wilson wasn't a possibility for the diagnostician, and it was her own fault. She'd known House long enough to know what he was like and what he was capable of; that desperate night when she had found him in a trembling heap on his bathroom floor, she had run to him. He hadn't called out to her, and he probably wouldn't have, either. She had been a fool to believe House had been in love with her then if he ever, in fact, had been at all.

To be fair, he had never said anything to lead her to believe that he was. She was a life preserver, and he'd clung to her desperately. House was on dry land now, and he didn't need to be saved anymore. He needed his best friend to be saved instead.

Turning on her four-inch heels Cuddy stalked away from House, heading to her office to cry in privacy.

**(~*~)**

House stood alone on the roof of the hospital, one of his favorite haunts when he wanted to hide from someone or something, or simply to think in privacy. Down below and within Wilson was undergoing emergency surgery to repair the partial dissection of his aorta. He had already beat incredible odds by surviving long enough to make it to the operating room. His chances of surviving the surgery were slim to none. Knowing that, House hadn't been able to bring himself to watch the procedure from the observation gallery overlooking the OR. When Wilson had undergone surgery to donate a lobe of his liver to his so-called friend Tucker, the odds of survival had been with him surviving, although there had been a fair amount of risk involved. Knowing that, House had been able to be there for his best friend. This time, he couldn't. He didn't want to watch Wilson die.

He knew there would be those who would criticize him for running and hiding during the oncologist's most critical hours of his life. House questioned his own actions, but this was all he could do; he was very much aware of his cowardice.

It was already dark. The midsummer evening was warm and breezy. From his vantage point House could see most of Princeton. Rush hour traffic was over; fewer vehicles lit up the streets and avenues with their headlights. Street lamps formed dotted lines that followed the roads. Down below people came and went from the hospital as if it were just an ordinary evening, as if the most important person in the universe weren't bleeding to death thus ending House's entire world as well.

_I need to tell you that…that I…that I love you, House. Just…just in case…I…._

Just in case Wilson didn't survive. His best friend's last words to him were a confession of that which the diagnostician had spent years longing to hear. _I love you, House._

House leaned against the short retaining wall and closed his eyes. Wilson had finally admitted to loving him and he hadn't had the chance to tell the oncologist that he loved him, too. Chances were high that he'd never get the opportunity and the younger man would die without knowing for certain that his feelings were reciprocated.

_Damn it, Wilson!_ House screamed in his mind. _Why did you wait so fucking long to tell me? Why couldn't you have told me that before Sam came into the picture again? We could have had months to love each other before this happened, if it even happened at all._

"I love you, Wilson," House whispered, the breeze blowing his words away.

"Me, too," Sam Carr said as she suddenly appeared beside him, startling him. He hadn't heard her open the door to the roof and approach. Seeing her turned his stomach sour; a frighteningly large part of him thought about picking the harpy up and throwing her over the wall; fortunately, the sane part of his mind was larger.

House set his jaw and squeezed the top of the wall instead of her neck. What the hell was she doing there? Why wasn't she down below, playing the terrified widow-to-be and sucking in all of the sympathy she could get? He knew she _would _be unless….

Squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing hard, House asked, "Is he…?" His voice trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to say the dreaded four letter word. His heart had stopped beating, or so it seemed, and he was holding his breath without realizing it.

"Not yet," Sam answered, keeping her eyes on the horizon.

House exhaled and his heart began to beat again. He slowly opened his eyes, looking at her out of the corners of them. She looked like she'd rushed out of the loft without looking in a mirror first. Her curly blonde locks were tussled and hung haphazardly in every which direction. Her eyes were red and puffy and her mascara had run all over her cheeks. She was wearing a t-shirt and lounging pants with flip-flops on her feet.

For a split-second House almost felt compassion for her—but only for a split-second. His reason returned to him and he continued to hate her. She did look like she genuinely had been crying, though. Of course, they could have been crocodile tears.

"We have that much in common, you know," Sam told him. "We both love James very, very much."

House looked down at her and scoffed, "Like I'm supposed to believe you genuinely care about him! I don't know why you slithered back into his life but I don't believe it was by chance. You looked specifically for him on Facebook, didn't you?"

"I was curious to see what had happened in his life since the divorce," she replied, not denying that he was correct. "I was lonely…I wondered if he was, too. We were so young the first time around. Neither of us really knew what we wanted, and he had so many…_distractions_. I was actually surprised to find that he was still single."

"He was divorced two more times after you," House sniped, frowning. "He had the same kind of…'distractions'. He hasn't been called the Panty-Peeler for nothing."

Sam smiled sadly; her eyes followed suit. "James was never a philanderer, but you know that. Yes, he cheated on me—once, and then felt so badly about it that he came and told me about it himself. By the way, it was a pair of boxers in that situation, not panties." Her washed-out blue eyes glanced up at him, apparently looking for a reaction.

House gazed back at her, nonplused. So his suspicions about his best friend _had_ been true. He'd never expected to hear the confirmation come from her manatee-like mouth, though. It started to make sense why Wilson had been upset by the clinic patient that had been assaulted for being homosexual. Perhaps the patient's plight had struck an already raw nerve in the oncologist.

"I thought he would have told you by now," the blonde told him, shaking her head slightly. She turned her body towards the diagnostician and leaned sideways against the wall. "James has struggled with his sexual identity ever since puberty. He tried to hide it from me, but I caught on. His parents found out about his liking for other men when he was a teenager and sent him away to get treated for it like it was a _disease_. He told me it was the best thing that his parents had ever done for him and that he was absolutely certain that he was completely heterosexual. I chose to believe him until the day I found his stash of gay porn about three months into our marriage."

"Is that why you dumped him and broke his heart?" House demanded, his hatred for her only strengthening. "That didn't mean that he didn't love you. He made a mistake. A person can be attracted to _both_ sexes, you know. It's more common than you think."

"You mean, like _you_, Greg?" Sam asked with a sly, knowing smile that held no affection or mirth. "I knew the first time I met you that you swung both ways."

"I was swinging it in every which direction, if I recall correctly," House smirked, remembering the look of shock on the harpy's face when she discovered him in the kitchen of the loft, nude. Unfortunately it hadn't scared her away.

"I knew for certain that you were in love with James when you stopped trying to come between us," she said.

"And how is that?" House demanded, and then sighed heavily. He averted his gaze. "If I were in love with him, I'd fight for him, not give in without any struggle."

"Not if you knew that James was happier with me than with you and trying to interfere with our relationship would hurt him," she argued knowingly. "That's why I showed up at your office that day and asked you to back off and allow James and me to have a chance. I knew that you would stop fighting me for him if you truly believed James was happier being with me. That's what love does—it sacrifices."

House's face twisted into a disgusted scowl and he met her gaze now. He was sick of her exploitation and deception. He hated the fact that he had allowed himself to be intimidated by such a conniving, manipulative bitch. If Wilson was so happy with her—if she was the love of his life—then why had he told House at the site of the accident that he loved _him_? Why hadn't he given his best friend a message to give to Sam, _just in case_? Wilson hadn't even mentioned her name.

"But you would never consider sacrificing for him, would you, Sam?" the diagnostician snarled, getting into her face. "Even if you knew he wasn't as happy with you as he lets on, you wouldn't do a thing to change that if it meant you might get the boot. Face it—the only reason you're up here taunting me instead of downstairs waiting for news from the OR is because you know your relationship with Wilson is falling apart, that my relationship has been the only one Wilson has had that has lasted and you're trying to intimidate me into continuing to back down just in case he happens to survive this."

"That's _not_ why I came up here!" Sam shouted, her hands coming to rest on her hips. "I came up here to _thank_ you!"

Now House was truly dumbstruck. He hadn't seen this coming. It was an interesting tactic; he wondered where it was leading.

"_Thank me_?" he echoed skeptically. "Why the fuck would _you_ want to thank _me_?"

Sam sighed in exasperation, shaking her head; House resisted, with great effort, mentioning the rattle he heard as she did that.

"Because you called me right away," she answered, the volume of her voice dropping considerably. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You could have waited as long as possible before informing me about James's accident, but you didn't, and you had the decency to call me yourself instead of having some nurse do it. So, thank you for that."

"It's what Wilson would have wanted me to do," House told her, shrugging off her unwanted gratitude. He didn't mention the fact that if he hadn't called her right away, Cuddy would have. "I didn't do it for _you_."

Sam stared at him in frustration for a moment or two longer before shaking her head in dismay and heading back to the door. He waited until he was certain she was gone before exhaling and relaxing his body. All House wanted was for Wilson to survive this. He had no desire to battle that blonde bitch right now.

His beeper went off, causing him to jump slightly. His heart thumped hard against his ribcage; he felt breathless again. His hands were sweating slightly. This was it. This was Cuddy paging him to tell him that his best friend, the man he was hopelessly in love with, was dead—or alive—but dead was more likely. He wasn't certain he wanted to know, and yet he had to. The diagnostician snatched his beeper off his belt and looked at the display.

House felt his knees buckle and slid down the short wall until he ended up on his rear. He began to sob—in relief.

**(TBC…)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: Wounded Birds**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing(s):** House/Wilson Pre-slash (possible slash later on)

**Genre:** Angst, hurt/comfort/romance

**Word Count:** ~2500

**A/N & Warnings:** Based on a prompt given to me by _Christikat_: House finds out that Wilson was abused as a child. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to **George Stark II **for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! Also posted at House_Wilson community at LJ.

**Rating: PG-13** for adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse. **(Possible NC-17 later)**

**(~*~)**

**Chapter Six**

House stood outside of Wilson's IC room, staring through the glass as nurses tended to him, keeping constant watch over the very ill man. If House believed in miracles (which he did not, but if he did) he would call Wilson's survival up to this point miraculous. He wasn't out of the woods yet—not by any means—but each hour he managed to survive post-op was priceless. So far he'd managed four. He wouldn't recover from the anesthetic for a few more hours, but House didn't expect him to be awake and ready to talk about what was going on in his head for quite some time, if at all. X-rays of his head done in the ER hadn't shown any kind of fracture to his skull or free blood that would speak of supra- or subcranial hematomas. That didn't mean he hadn't suffered brain injury, just that there was no evidence of it on the X-ray. He wasn't stable enough to run an MRI but as soon as he was, one would be run to confirm whether or not there was damage. A good sign was the lack of EEG evidence to indicate intercranial pressure elevation.

Wilson could still crash at any moment and die. There were no guarantees.

He wanted desperately to go into the room and just be with Wilson, touch his hand and feel that he was still among the living, that this wasn't just a dream or worse, a hallucination. The problem with that was not even Sam was allowed in for the time being, although it would probably be only a couple of hours until she would be. House had tried to use his position in the hospital to get around the mandate set by the surgeon but Cuddy had listed him as 'family' rather than 'physician' as far as Wilson was concerned; he had originally been outraged, but given a little while to think about it, he knew she was right. Friends didn't treat friends who had been in life-threatening car crashes.

Looking over his shoulder he saw Sam returning from the ladies' room. Her eyes were still puffy and red but otherwise she appeared to be calm and in control. He really didn't want anything to do with her just then. The unit had instructions to page him the moment Wilson's status changed, so he headed for the elevator.

He was tired. It was well past midnight and the day had been an emotionally and physically exhausting one. He was tempted to head home to catch a couple of hours of sleep before returning to the hospital but then he wondered where home actually was. While he hadn't officially broken up with Cuddy yet, emotionally he had, and he had the feeling she felt the same way. He regretted the failure of yet another failed relationship for both of them; he didn't regret no longer being in the relationship. House thought he would feel worse than he did about it. The truth was, if anything, he felt somewhat relieved. They would have to talk about it eventually, but not tonight. He would drop by her place tomorrow evening to pick up his stuff and end things officially then. He still had his apartment to retreat to, but it remained cluttered with half of the furniture still covered in drop cloths, dust everywhere and the walls covered in the hideous colors chosen by Alvie before he'd left for Arizona to live with his cousin.

The elevator arrived and House stepped into the empty car. He selected his floor and the doors closed. House would crash on the couch in his office for a while. His ducklings had long since gone home, as had Cuddy, so he wouldn't be disturbed unless something happened with Wilson; if that happened he wanted to be disturbed.

The elevator arrived and he stepped off into a quiet corridor. There were two nurses at the oncology nursing station nearby, but they were busy with paperwork and didn't even look up when he stepped out. He headed for his office and paused at his door and looked in, hesitating. The sofa in Wilson's office was much more comfortable and he didn't want to cramp up his leg. With a shrug he headed to Wilson's office and tried the doorknob. It was locked. His assistant must have locked his door before leaving for the day. Undaunted, House returned to his office, entered, and went directly to the balcony. Wilson always locked his office door, but rarely his balcony door, and his assistant hadn't locked it in the past. Wilson had allowed House into his office through the balcony door the day before and had left suddenly, failing to lock it again. House easily climbed over the short wall that separated his half of the balcony from Wilson's and, as predicted, was able to enter his office that way.

Once inside House immediately shut the blinds and then allowed his eyes to adjust before making his way to a filing cabinet. He pulled open the unlocked bottom drawer and pulled out a travel pillow and blanket Wilson kept in there. House made a makeshift bed on the sofa and lied down. He exhaled heavily, willing his body to slow down and relax. The pillow and blanket smelled like Wilson; House found it comforting and before long he drifted off to sleep.

He woke with a start when he felt a hand on his shoulder, lightly shaking him, and someone repeating his name.

"House, _wake up_!" Dr. Robert Chase said for the fourth time. House opened his eyes and squinted quickly at the brilliance of the light streaming in the balcony window. Someone had opened the blinds, probably in an effort to wake him. He blinked, trying to place himself and then remembered that he had fallen asleep in Wilson's office. He was only going to sleep for a couple of hours before checking on Wilson. His eyes were being assaulted by daylight….

House sat up suddenly, startling the Australian doctor leaning over him. Chase took several steps backward, glaring at his boss. House's eyes were darting around rapidly and then he checked his watch. Nine-fucking-oh-nine a.m.! He looked for his cane, finding it hung over the armrest of the sofa. Grabbing it he threw off the blanket that was over him and rose quickly, cursing softly; he limped out of the office as quickly as his ruined leg would allow him. Chase followed him out, pursuing him as he made his way toward the elevator.

"He's okay, House. He was conscious for a couple of minutes and asked for you before he lapsed back into unconsciousness," he told the diagnostician. "That was ten minutes ago. Dr. Carr asked me to let you know."

House stopped and looked at his employee, frowning. "_Sam_ sent you?"

Chase nodded, appearing confused by House's reaction. "Yeah. We tried paging you but you slept right through it. We tried calling you at home but Cuddy said you hadn't come home last night so it occurred to me that you might have crashed here at the hospital. I expected to find you in your office, not Wilson's, but whatever."

House pressed the elevator call button and explained, "His sofa is more comfortable." He found it hard to believe that Sam, of all people, would send for him. He would have expected her to cover up the fact that Wilson had asked for him rather than to actually respect Wilson's wishes. He didn't for a second believe that she had suddenly become an altruist overnight. She was working a plan, there was an ulterior motive and House was determined to find out what that was.

Wilson had regained consciousness so soon? That was truly a good sign—quite unexpected but good. The mere fact that he had made it through the night was amazing. For the first time since House had come upon the accident scene he perceived a glimmer of hope. The fact that the oncologist had asked for him specifically didn't dampen House's careful optimism either. There was no guarantee he'd wake up again for days, but if it happened once, it could happen again. House cursed himself for sleeping so long; he could have been there when Wilson woke up if he'd gotten up after a couple of hours like he'd planned.

The elevator arrived and both doctors boarded it.

"What the hell happened anyway?" Chase inquired. "I arrived here this morning and as I was checking in the nurses were gossiping about Wilson being on death's door in ICU."

House didn't feel like retelling the entire story yet again and sighed. "He was in a car wreck and suffered a partially dissected aorta at the heart. There were other injuries but that was the priority. He crashed in the ambulance on the way here and then once during surgery. He's damn lucky to still be alive." He stopped talking because a lump had formed in his throat which blocked his voice. He swallowed hard several times and blinked back the moisture that was forming in his eyes.

"Shit," Chase muttered grimly, shaking his head in dismay. House could sense the younger doctor's gaze on him but refused to acknowledge it. He didn't want anyone's sympathy. He was perfectly fine—Wilson was the one who was hurt.

The elevator arrived and House limped off quickly, ignoring the way his leg screamed at him with every step. The muscles in his thigh, what was left of them, had stiffened up because he'd kept them immobile for hours and were bitching at him for waking them up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of prescription-strength ibuprofen, taking two before putting the bottle back. He dry-swallowed them, a trick he'd acquired after years of heavy Vicodin use. They were far too inadequate for the kind of chronic pain he suffered but they were all he had since he'd detoxed the year before.

They passed the nursing station without stopping, heading straight for Wilson's room. The blinds had been drawn over the glass walls along the sides but the end wall with the door had to remain open for medical staff to make visual inspections from time to time. House could see Sam sitting in the recliner next to his bed. She held Wilson's left hand in both of hers. His right arm had been packed, padded, and stabilized to protect the compound fracture from becoming infected and jostled around. It would have to be repaired surgically, as would his crushed right ankle and broken right femur, but that would have to wait until he was strong and stable enough to survive the anesthesia required to perform the procedures.

House looked up at the monitors surrounding his best friend, quickly interpreting what their readings were telling him. Wilson's vitals were slightly improved from the evening before but not much. At least they weren't worse, House reminded himself. He knocked lightly on the glass. Sam looked up at him and nodded. She looked very tired and somber. House slid the door open and entered Wilson's room, sliding it shut behind him, leaving Chase outside. He stepped up to the end of the bed and out of habit picked up the chart and skimmed through it. Satisfied that everything that should be done was being done, he put the chart back and stared down at the terribly pale face of his friend. The worst of the facial injuries had been tended to and the other damage would be taken care of by a reconstructive surgeon. Dressings covered the injuries that started above his natural hair line and extended down as far as the brow zone, but he'd been lucky not to have the glass damage his eyes. He was intubated and on a respirator.

"How did he ask for me while intubated?"

The blonde looked up at him. From the bedside table she picked up a pad of paper and handed it to him without a word and then looked away from him again. House, bewildered, looked at the top page. Scribbled in Wilson's illegible cursive was an H, an O and a U. Under that was what looked like 'S-A-M' with a line drawn through it.

"He was awake enough to write _this_?" House asked skeptically, shaking the pad in emphasis.

"Well _I _certainly didn't write it," Sam replied quietly, still avoiding his gaze. "He tried to talk but couldn't because of the tube. A nurse gave him the pad and pen and he scribbled that before he went under again. I tried to reassure him that I was here. That's when…" she sighed and didn't finish her sentence. It was obvious that Wilson had crossed out her name at that point.

"Burn," House murmured, but she heard him loud and clear. The look on her face was one of resentment and resignation. Her jaw was clenched, probably in an effort to keep herself from crying. She released Wilson's hand and rose to her feet. She grabbed her purse and slung her jacket over her arm before bending over the oncologist and placing a chaste kiss onto his cheek. When she stood up again she met House's eyes for the first time since he had arrived.

"Congratulations," Sam said to him in a monotone voice. "He doesn't want me. Don't hurt him."

House stared at her; it dawned on him what was going on. She was surrendering, leaving Wilson—again. While it was good news for him, he knew that his best friend would be hurt by it when he woke up again. Maybe Wilson wasn't in love with her, but House was certain that he did care deeply for her. He should be rubbing it into her face right now and gloating, but he didn't feel at all like doing so—House was infuriated.

"So that's it?" the diagnostician asked her sharply, his icy blue eyes shooting daggers her way. "You give up because of a line drawn through your name? What, are you going to walk out on him and allow him to find out the hard way again? You're a gutless bitch! Do him a favor, _sweetie_. Don't come back. Being run out on twice in a lifetime by the same woman is all any man should have to take. Go find another forgiving chump and destroy his life and leave Wilson the hell alone!"

Sam walked up to House until she was mere inches away from him. Her face twisted into an expression of utter disgust. "I'll never understand what he sees in you. You're just a loser, and that's all you'll ever be."

She walked around him and left the room. House pivoted to watch her stride down the corridor away from Wilson's room.

House limped to the door and poked his head out, shouting after her, "Don't forget to lock the door and slip the key underneath when you're done moving your shit out of the loft!"

She gave him the finger without slowing down or looking back.

Fucking bitch! House thought and he retreated back into Wilson's room and slid the door shut. After a moment he sat down in the recliner she had vacated and picked up Wilson's hand with his, holding it tenderly, and he didn't give a shit if anyone was watching.

"Way to dodge a bullet, dude," House told the oncologist with a sigh and a small, satisfied smile.

**(TBC…)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: Wounded Birds**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing(s):** House/Wilson Pre-slash (possible slash later on)

**Genre:** Angst, hurt/comfort/romance

**Word Count:** 3533

**A/N & Warnings:** Based on a prompt given to me by Christikat: House finds out that Wilson was abused as a child. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to George Stark II for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! **NOTE: Rating Change (see below). **Also posted at House_Wilson community at LJ.

Rating: **M** for adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse.

**Chapter Seven**

Even though House didn't want to share Wilson with anyone else once he came to, he knew that his family should be notified, just in case; he could still turn for the worse and die, although the odds of that happening were getting slimmer with each hour he managed to hold on. The diagnostician thought that Wilson's parents had been notified already, either by the hospital or by Sam. When there was no word from them after the first full day had passed he began to wonder if they had been informed and after a couple of inquiries he discovered that they hadn't been. Sam had told the hospital that she would call them but there was no official confirmation that she had. When House called them, he discovered that she hadn't—just another lie that manipulative harpy had told.

His mother was so upset upon hearing the news that she broke down and cried on the phone. House wasn't adept at handling emotional outbursts; he didn't know how to comfort someone who was hurting, so such situations always left him extremely uneasy. He was relieved when Wilson's father, Joe, took the phone from her. House repeated what he had told his wife. While there was a long pause between that and when Joe responded, he was calm and under control.

"Why weren't we notified sooner, Greg? This happened yesterday afternoon already and we're only hearing about it now?" There was an undertone of anger there and House couldn't blame him for that.

"Sam told the ER desk that she would contact you," House explained. He spoke with a deference that he rarely showed to anyone else; he had known Wilson's parents for years, had gone to dinner with Wilson and them when they were in the Princeton area. They, like Wilson, were able to see past his abrasive exterior and approved of him as a friend for their son. "I…She must have forgotten." He heard a soft click on the line as Nancy Wilson picked up an extension to listen in; he could hear her sniffle occasionally.

"Wait a minute—did you just say _Sam_?" Joe asked him quickly, sounding surprised. "As in _Samantha Carr_?"

House realized that Wilson hadn't informed them about Sam being back in his life, which led him to mentally ask himself why Wilson hadn't told them. He spoke to his parents at least once a week by phone. He raised his eyebrow in curiosity.

"Yes, sir," House responded. House's father had beat into him the lesson of treating his elders with respect. Usually House rejected that training unless he felt the person, his elder or no, deserved that respect, which admittedly was seldom.

"What the hell is _she_ doing back in his life?" Wilson's father demanded, not hiding the disgust he felt from his voice. "They're dating again?"

A smirk broke out on House's face. Obviously the Wilsons didn't like Sam any better than he did. It made sense; the bitch had broken their son's heart the first time around; House wondered how they would react once they found out that she had ditched him again.

"For almost five months now," House answered, his own voice conveying antipathy. "She moved in with him about three months ago," he added immediately.

"I thought _you _were staying with James, Greg," Nancy cut in, sounding confused.

"I was," House answered, restraining himself from telling them that their son had kicked him out so Sam could move in. Now their son and he were more distant with each other than they had ever been, excluding the period just after Amber's death. "I was the third wheel; they wanted their privacy so I moved out. Uh, you probably should know that Sam…has left James. This morning, but since he's been unconscious he doesn't know yet. It's best that he doesn't find out immediately after he wakes up, unless he specifically asks. He shouldn't be agitated right now in his condition."

Wilson's mother began to cry again, and House sighed, shifting on his feet so that most of his weight rested on his good leg; his ruined thigh was really starting to hurt—more than normally, that is. He needed to sit down soon.

"Nancy, pull yourself together or get off of the phone, Sweetheart," Joe told his wife lovingly but firmly. House heard the sobs fade away and then the tell-tale click of her hanging up. "It's a good thing that bitch is gone," the senior Wilson commented threateningly, but didn't go on to explain exactly why. House had a pretty good idea, though. "Greg, Nancy and I will be on the next available flight. Thank you for notifying us."

"You're welcome, sir."

After the call, House returned to Wilson's side to find that Cuddy had arrived and was standing in his IC room at the end of his bed, staring at him. The diagnostician sighed. He didn't know if he was up to facing her; for some reason, her mere presence near Wilson irritated House. Taking a deep breath he entered the small room, moving to stand next to Cuddy; he kept an arms-length distance from her.

She appeared tired; dark circles under her eyes had been plastered with concealer and powder to hide them but the effort proved to be unsuccessful. She looked drawn, morose. Even the clothes she wore were less colorful and flamboyant than they usually were, although her blouse still plunged lower than office-chic and revealed the lacy red push-up bra she wore. Her knee-length grey pencil skirt hugged her voluptuous hips and ass. House felt his dick twitch but that was all. There was a physical response, but no emotional one, which basically summed up what had been the core of their relationship. She hugged herself as if she were chilled.

"Has he regained consciousness again?" Cuddy asked him softly, her grey-blue eyes remaining fixed on the oncologist. They were unreadable and House wondered what exactly was going on in her mind at that moment.

House shook his head, "No. His condition has stabilized for now but he's still in critical condition." _Good_, he thought. Medicine he could talk about right now; emotions and relationships he could not. If Wilson's status was all Cuddy wanted to talk about, House could tolerate her presence—for now.

The Dean of Medicine nodded and remained silent. House's leg ordered him to sit down, so he did, hanging his cane on the arm of his chair. He picked up Wilson's limp hand and held it gently, caressing the younger man's knuckles with his thumb. He looked up at her, almost as a challenge for her to say anything. Cuddy's eyes were on Wilson's and House's hands for only a second before they moved up to meet his gaze. Her eyes were still icy, unreadable, but he did notice how the corners of her lips pulled downwards.

"You didn't come home last night," she said to the diagnostician, revealing the obvious, "and you didn't call. I was worried."

"I was here," House told her stiffly. "You should have known that."

"The charge nurse said you weren't here most of the night," Cuddy answered that.

House's eyes hardened and his voice was slightly indignant. "Checking up on me now?"

Cuddy dropped her arms and sighed in exasperation. "I was concerned about you, about how you were dealing with what happened. I was afraid that if you were upset enough you might—"

"Might what?" House interrupted, the volume of his voice rising slightly. He released his hold on Wilson's hand because he felt the need to clench his fists and didn't want to crush it. "Might rush back to my apartment and find another stash of Vicodin to take and get high? I might throw away a year of sobriety just like that?"

"You nearly did not too long ago," Cuddy reminded him pointedly, eyes flashing and hands moving to her hips. "You would have if I hadn't come to check on you!"

House exhaled explosively and then rose with amazing speed, considering his bad leg, and moved over to her without the use of his cane. He grabbed her firmly by the arm—not enough to cause actual pain but enough to keep her from pulling away from his grip—and led her out of the room and down the corridor a few feet to an alcove out of earshot of the nursing station. She resisted him slightly but not enough to throw him off balance.

"Let go of me!" she demanded indignantly.

"You're so sure that _you're _the reason I didn't take the Vicodin, aren't you?" House sneered. "You think that you're my savior and I owe my life to you, don't you?"

"In a way, you do!" Cuddy snapped angrily, still pulling her arm against his hold on it. "You owe me for more than that! If it weren't for me you wouldn't even have a job practicing medicine. I hired you when no other hospital administrator in the state—or the country, for that matter, would. I don't know why I did. I guess I felt nostalgic and took pity on you."

House's grip on her arm tightened at the word 'pity' but Cuddy went on, undaunted. "I even gave you your own department and carte blanche to treat your patients as you saw fit!"

House broke out into a derisive, angry laugh before spitting out, "'Carte blanche'? You have interfered with my abilities, skills, and decision-making from the very beginning. You said you hired me because I'm the best at what I do and I would be a boon to this hospital, then you check and question me at every turn. You're a second rate doctor that a podiatrist would put to shame yet you have the gall to control what I think and do, usually to the detriment of my patients. How many patients have I lost, Cuddy, that died because of my mistake or malpractice? Hmm? My mortality rate is the _lowest_ in this hospital—or anywhere else for that matter—and you know it. You treat me with next to no respect and give me less authority over my own department and patients than any other department head here with your constant policing. You even hired someone to _spy_ on me! I'm tired of your goddamned condescension! If you hired me only out of pity you would have fired me a long time ago—and don't say that you kept me around because of personal feelings for me. We both know that this hospital comes first for you above _all_ else, including your _daughter_. You've kept me on because I'm _that_ good!"

"You're full of yourself!" Cuddy growled furiously. House had to admit that he was incredibly aroused by her; she was a tigress attacking her prey. He had to keep reminding himself of the hurt and anger she had caused him over the years to keep from ravishing her.

"You're an addict, a drunkard, and a maladapted, delusional bastard!" she continued without missing a beat. "If I hadn't felt sorry for you when you came back from the asylum you wouldn't even have your medical license back. I can't _believe_ I allowed myself to throw common sense away and dump a man who isn't as…as passionate and unpredictable as you are, but who loved me, respected me and was someone I could _depend _on. I didn't have to protect Lucas from self-destructing! You would have taken the Vicodin that night, and you'd be right back to your addicted, angry, bitter, and hallucinating self. So don't blame me for checking up on you. God knows you're incapable of controlling yourself!"

House released his grip on her arm and took an involuntary step back as if she had hauled off and backhanded him. Her words wounded him badly, hitting him below the belt when she brought up his breakdown and compared him to Lucas—_again_. He wasn't certain if it hurt so much because it was true but because he believed it was. He was certain about one thing, though—he and Cuddy were finished. He didn't love her, had never been in love with her and at that moment wished he'd never met her. House didn't know if they could ever be friends again after this, but they never again would be lovers.

"If you were my lifeboat," House told her in a very soft, very menacing tone of voice, "I'd have been better off staying on the Titanic! I didn't want or need you to save me. You had already made it clear that you thought I was a lost cause and you were moving on. What, you got a chance to see _emo_ House and suddenly I was redeemable again? Did my being broken make you horny enough to go against months of throwing your responsible man-child in my face and give him the heave-ho instead? If that's what does it for you, go to ITunes and order yourself some Black Veil Brides, dress in black and tell Lucas to wear eyeliner to bed! I'm _me_, Lisa—the same selfish, cynical, misanthropic bastard you decided to reject without giving me half a chance to prove that I was trying to _heal_, not _change_. You saw a rare moment for me. You either buy the whole meal or you don't eat because I don't do _a la carte_. Go back to your fucking pet-boyfriend—if he'll even take you back—and your screeching spawn! I can't stomach looking at you anymore."

Setting her jaw and standing straight she insisted vehemently, "Don't you _dare_ talk to me like that! I'm still your employer and if you like your job you'd better treat me with a little respect!"

"And that's all you'll ever be, _Boss_!" He began to limp away from her and then turned around and said as an afterthought, "In case you're thinking about firing me, let me remind you that I have tenure and if I have to go before the board, I'll tell them the _real _reason you want to get rid of me. I'll send for my stuff that's at your place."

House turned his back on her and limped back toward Wilson's room. She called after him loudly enough to be heard at the nursing station.

"I guess the rumors _are_ true—you really _are_ gay! Do you honestly think an obviously straight man like Wilson would throw over a beautiful, intelligent woman like Sam for _you_?"

He turned back to look at her; a wicked, toothy grin was his reply to that. Cuddy took a literal step back in trepidation. House continued on to Wilson's room; he was glad when he saw her march past the door on her way to only god knows where. He sat down in the recliner next to Wilson and picked up his hand again. His anger was evaporating leaving behind the euphoria of relief. He had just dodged a bullet, too.

**(~*~)**

House was dozing when he felt pressure on his hand. He opened his eyes, wondering if he had been mistaken when he felt the pressure again and then quickly a third time. He sat up in the recliner and looked over to the bed. Staring back at him were two beautiful, drowsy brown eyes. The diagnostician smiled for a few uninhibited moments before catching himself and turning the smile down several degrees but not extinguishing it completely. He returned the squeeze to Wilson's hand.

"You're lucky you're already in the hospital," House told him with faux-gruffness, "or I'd put you in here for pulling an idiotic stunt like that." He had to clear his throat to hide the emotions that were threatening to take possession of him. His voice softened. "Don't scare me like that again."

Wilson pulled his hand away from House's and began to mime holding a pen and writing. House located the pen and notepad, placing the writing implement in his left hand and positioning the pad where the younger man could reach it. Wilson began to scrawl on the paper in block letters (for which House was grateful; Wilson's cursive was nearly illegible, even to another doctor). House positioned himself so he could read it as it was being written.

**SORRY.**

House looked at him with eyes that expressed his forgiveness and love. He didn't trust himself to speak, but he nodded.

**HURT BAD?**

Clearing his throat and swallowing, the diagnostician replied, "Yes. You were right. You suffered a partially dissected aorta. You nearly died three times but we managed to bring you back. Twelve units of blood later you're here, stubborn as a mule."

Wilson's eyes widened slightly. He appeared to think about that for a few seconds before writing again.

**WHAT ELSE?**

Sighing, House began to list other injuries. "You suffered a moderate concussion but no sign of any bleeds, moderate to severe facial lacerations and contusions, limited mostly to your forehead and the top of your head from when you hit the windshield; four broken ribs, three cracked, hemothorax, a compound fracture of your right humerus, a fractured right femur, and a crushed right ankle. You also have numerous other lacerations, punctures and contusions, a bruised liver and spinal shock, but no indication on X-rays or an MRI of broken vertebrae or spinal cord damage. You should regain feeling and movement in your lower body as the swelling goes down, but if I were you I'd be glad to feel nothing right now. That way more of the morphine you're being given can go to feeling good. Lucky bastard."

The corners of Wilson's mouth drew upwards around the tube in his mouth and his chocolate-colored eyes sparkled, nearly taking House's breath away with how beautiful they were. How he could have thought he could fall in love with Cuddy eventually? What he had felt for her in their best moments together didn't come close to the kind of deep and abiding love he felt for Wilson. He knew now that he would never love anyone like he did the oncologist; he was ruined for anyone else for the rest of his life.

**OTHER DRIVER?**

Of _course_ he was concerned about the other driver even as he lay in his sickbed in critical condition! He wouldn't be Wilson if he wasn't.

"Not a scratch," House assured him with a smirk. "Her airbags, and when I say airbags I'm _not_ talking metaphorically, actually worked the way they were supposed to. Don't worry about that right now."

Wilson wrote one more word down before setting down the pen and resting his hand.

**SAM?**

House cursed under his breath. That was the one question the diagnostician had been hoping he wouldn't ask. He wasn't surprised by it, though. She had been his girlfriend, his live-in lover. Why wouldn't he ask about her?

Sighing audibly, House watched his best friend's face as his answered honestly, "She's…not here. She was, earlier, but she left…for good."

There was no visible reaction from the oncologist in response to that except for the closing of his eyes. He remained that way long enough for House to wonder if he hadn't drifted off again.

"Wilson?" House asked tentatively.

The younger man opened his eyes immediately and looked up at his friend. There was no anger, reproach, sorrow or guilt in them that House could see, and he was very adept at reading Wilson's eye language.

"You…you told me at the scene of the accident that…that you love me," House asked very cautiously, his voice nearly a whisper and his blue eyes pleading with Wilson not to hate him. He had never felt so vulnerable before and he hated it. "Are you _in_ love with me?"

There were a few torturous moments between House's question and Wilson's answer where the older man felt like he was going to die from anxiety. He silently pled with him to answer quickly.

Wilson grabbed House's hand where it rested limply on the bed and squeezed it, not letting up until House squeezed back. A smile fought to express itself in spite of his intubation. Relief washed over House like a giant wave and threatened to knock him silly. He grinned like an idiot and reached to cup Wilson's cheek in his hand; he caressed his cheekbone with his thumb.

"This might be the first and last time you're going to hear me say this, though I plan on demonstrating it to you every day I've got left, so pay attention," House murmured, growing serious. "I'm in love with you, too."

Wilson squeezed his hand in affirmation, and his puppy dog eyes began to glisten with an unshed tear or two. House had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from tearing up as well. When had he become such a hormonal teenage girl?

"Go to sleep," the diagnostician told him. "You _will _tell me later why you left your office like a bat out of hell. I'll be here when you wake up."

Wilson gave his hand one more squeeze before allowing his eyes to close and falling back to sleep.

**(TBC…)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: Wounded Birds**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer: ** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing(s):** House/Wilson Pre-slash (possible slash later on)

**Genre:** Angst, hurt/comfort.

**Word Count:** ~2600

**A/N & Warnings:** Based on a prompt given to me by Christikat: House finds out that Wilson was abused as a child. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to **George Stark II** for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! **Note: Change in rating (see below). **Also posted at House_Wilson community on Livejournal(dot)com.

**Rating: M** for adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse. (Possible NC-17 later)

**(~*~)**

**Chapter Eight**

It was early evening when Wilson's parents arrived at PPTH and they were directed straight up to ICU. House was still in the chair next to Wilson's bed as the patient slept; he hadn't awakened since his brief conversation with the diagnostician earlier in the day. House himself was sleeping, his feet up on the edge of the bed, head limply hanging forward so that his chin nearly touched his chest. He didn't hear Joe and Nancy Wilson enter the room, nor Nancy's comment of how sweet both Wilson and House looked when they were asleep.

Wilson's mother placed a gentle hand on House's head and rustled his hair. When that failed to wake him up she placed a hand on his cheek and rubbed little circles against his scruff. That finally roused her son's friend who moaned and then opened his blue eyes. His head shot up so quickly that he startled Mrs. Wilson, causing her to recoil in surprise.

"Huh? What—?" House muttered and then realized where he was. He looked up at Wilson's parents dumbly for a second, blinked a few times, and then realized who it was standing in front of him. He rubbed his face with a hand and sat up, bringing his feet down from the bed.

"Hello Greg," Joe said in a hushed tone, extending a hand to his son's friend.

House started to stand up.

"No, stay seated!" Joe insisted, smiling slightly.

The diagnostician sat back down with a nod and shook his hand briefly. Nancy came over and placed a kiss on his cheek.

"How are you, Greg?" she asked him quietly with genuine interest. House couldn't help but give her a little smile. He'd always thought Wilson had the greatest mother.

"I'm fine," he replied and then nodded to his best friend. "He will be, too. He's facing an extended recovery, however."

"You gave us the abbreviated version of what happened," Joe said. "Can you fill in the gaps?"

House went into detail about the accident itself, but for some reason he didn't feel right about disclosing the content of the brief conversation he'd had with their son right before he'd left the hospital. It hadn't made much sense to House then and it still didn't, but he wanted to talk to Wilson about it first.

"He suffered a partial aortic dissection near the aorta valve of the heart," he told them in a matter-of-fact fashion. "That means his aorta, the largest artery in his body that carries oxygenated blood from the heart to the rest of the body, was partially torn open by the impact of the collision. The dissection occurred near the part of the heart where the aorta is connected. He began to bleed internally in large quantities, very quickly, into his chest cavity."

Nancy gasped softly and Joe put an arm around her, pulling her closer to him.

"The blood accumulated there. We call that a hemothorax. The increasing pressure from the presence of the blood was making it difficult for his lungs to expand when he tried to breathe and was inhibiting the proper beating of his heart. It was also taking circulating blood from the rest of his body. I inserted a chest tube in the ambulance to help drain off the accumulating blood to relieve some of the pressure. He was rushed to the hospital just in time; James was taken to surgery immediately where they repaired the tear. He's been given blood transfusions to replace the amount he lost as well as IV fluids to keep him hydrated and regulate his electrolyte balance. He also suffered several broken bones including a compound fracture of the right humerus, which is the long bone of the upper arm. His right side got the brunt of the damage. His right femur, the long bone in his thigh, was fractured and his right ankle was crushed. His pelvis has a hairline fracture and he has a number of broken and cracked ribs.

"He'll require surgery to repair some of the breaks but they won't be done until he is much stronger than he is now. He also has a grade two concussion but he should recover from that on his own. He is suffering from temporary paralysis in the lower half of his body due to what is called spinal shock. His spinal cord was not damaged, so no permanent paralysis will result but it was 'bruised' or pinched and began to swell, causing the temporary paraplegia. Once the swelling goes down sensation and motor function should return."

"So in other words, he's going to be alright?" Joe asked, looking from House to Nancy and then back to House. The diagnostician smirked in amusement and nodded.

"Yes, but it's going to take time."

"Thank God," Nancy sighed, looking like the weight of the world had been lifted off of her shoulders. "James is so lucky to have a friend like you, Greg. Thank you so much for what you did for him."

House shrugged the credit off, feeling uncomfortable with it. "I just kept him alive until he got to the hospital, Mrs. Wilson. The ER staff and surgical team deserve the credit."

"Nonsense," she told him. "You followed him to make certain he was alright and then saved his life so the surgeons had a chance to do their job." She stepped back towards him and gave him a warm hug. House stiffened, staring everywhere but at Joe or her. He rolled his eyes and heard Mr. Wilson snicker at that. House gingerly brought his arms up to give her a polite, quick squeeze before dropping his arms again. He wasn't used to such affectionate contact outside of sex and even though he had to admit it felt good, it also made him uncomfortable.

"Has he awakened yet?" Joe asked, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder and gently pulling her away from his son's friend. House threw him a quick look of appreciation.

"Twice, briefly," the diagnostician answered with a nod. "Once while Sam was sitting with him. I was sleeping in his office at the time—his sofa is more comfortable than the one in my office. The second time I was with him. He was lucid and capable of communicating both times using paper and a pen."

"How long does he need to have that tube down his throat?" Nancy asked, looking at it with a frown. "Isn't he able to breathe on his own?"

"He has to remain intubated for the time being," House answered. "As he strengthens he'll be evaluated to determine if he's capable of breathing on his own and maintaining a safe level of oxygen reaching his cells. Once he is, the tube will be removed. The ventilator is breathing approximately three breaths out of every five he takes in right now. He's on a relatively high dose of Morphine for the pain and that drug does depress the respiratory centers somewhat. Once it's possible to lower the dose his ability to breathe independently should improve." The diagnostician took one of Wilson's hands and held it without thinking about it; he'd held it pretty much constantly since Sam left except when he took a bathroom break or nodded off. He brushed Wilson's knuckles absently with his thumb.

"You look so tired, Greg," Nancy told him, shaking her head. "You've been such a good friend, but you have to eat and sleep to keep your strength up. There's no point in both of you ending up in a hospital bed. Why don't you go home, eat something, sleep for a while? Joe and I will be here with James if he wakes up."

Mentally rolling his eyes, House held back a smirk and smart remark. He knew that in her case, Nancy really was concerned for him and it wasn't all for show. Still, he was a grown man and didn't need to be mothered.

"I promised James I'd be here when he woke again," House replied, shaking his head no. "I don't want to break my word to him."

Joe's eyes caught House's for a moment and they were unreadable but House had a gut feeling the elder Wilson was examining him closely, carefully connecting dots. What those dots led to, House wasn't certain he wanted to know. When his eyes moved from House's to rest pointedly at Wilson's hand in his and then back again, House had a feeling Joe understood the dynamics between Wilson and him better than he had originally thought. House didn't want to 'out' Wilson to his parents while he was unconscious but he wasn't about to change his behavior around his best friend either.

House returned his gaze to Nancy, pretending the silent exchange between Joe and him had never taken place. "If you like, I can move over to sit by the door so Joe and you can sit close to him, but I'm not leaving, Mrs. Wilson."

Nancy nodded in acknowledgement. House rose from his chair and offered it to her and then excused himself while he went to find two more chairs.

"I'll help him," Joe told his wife, patting her on the shoulder. She nodded and then turned her attention to their son. Wilson's father followed House out, catching up to him quickly.

"We need to talk privately," he told House firmly. It wasn't a request but an order. While Joe didn't look upset or angry, he did appear to be tense. The diagnostician sighed, setting down the chair he had grabbed from the nursing station. He didn't want to have this conversation.

"I've already told you everything—" House began to say when he was cut off by Joe.

"Not everything," the older man stated, his eyes and voice becoming hard. "I don't want to upset Nancy any more than she already is. Let's take it to your office, shall we?"

House met Mr. Wilson's eyes with a confidence he didn't feel. He liked and respected Wilson's dad a great deal and he didn't want to damage the good will that had existed between them for years. He didn't want to disappoint his best friend by being on the outs with his parents and House didn't want to lose that feeling of acceptance he had felt from them. However, he was not about to set out on a relationship with Wilson by being intimidated by his father.

"I'm not leaving James," House told him again, picking up the chair in his left hand again and trying to go around the other man. Joe moved to block his way; he was a little shorter than House, approximately the same height as his son, but he was quite a bit more solid than him. The diagnostician was pretty certain Wilson's father could easily take the taller man out When push came to shove, but he really didn't want to test that assumption.

"I insist," Joe told him in a low, menacing tone, taking a step closer to House.

"Uh huh," House responded. He didn't like to be threatened by anyone, even if the threat was non-verbal. House gripped his cane tightly; he would only use it to defend himself should it become necessary, which he really hoped it wouldn't. In his head House was adding pieces to the puzzle that concerned why Wilson had been upset so greatly by the plight of his abused teenage patient. The youth was homosexual and had been beaten by his own father…Wilson had mentioned how he was taught to control and eliminate his _perversions_, though he hadn't said exactly what those were…his best friend had mentioned that his father practiced 'tough love'…Joe was obviously displeased with the gesture of affection House had shown Wilson by holding and caressing his hand….

The doctor set his jaw and smirked angrily, his blue eyes flaring now. "Anything you want to talk about, we can talk about in James's room in front of your wife and son."

With that House pushed past Joe carrying the chair. Before he could escape Joe grabbed onto a chair leg and yanked on it to pull it from House's grip and in the process upset the younger man's balance. House barely managed to remain standing. Joe dropped the chair onto the floor rather loudly and then took the two strides that separated them and tightly gripped the scruff of House's collar tightly. House grabbed at his wrist, trying to pry Joe's grip free without success.

The nurses at the station looked up but then quickly went back to work; it was commonly known that Dr. House had a reputation for pissing off patients' family members so this was nothing for them to become concerned about as far as they were concerned.

"You are not the one in charge here!" Joe told him quietly through gritted teeth. "If you want to save face I suggest we go to your office."

"Why?" House shouted loudly, drawing the attention of staff and visiting families alike. "So you can beat the shit out of me and call it 'tough love'? That's what you did to James, isn't it? You beat up your teenage son because he didn't conform to your standard of what was normal and acceptable!"

"Shut up!" Joe hissed, his face turning red as his eyes shifted around to see how many people were witnessing their exchange. "You don't know anything!"

"I know that you terrorized your son into believing that he was fatally flawed the way he was born to be and beat him into submitting to be who he wasn't!" House retorted. In his peripheral vision the doctor could see one of the nurses at the station stare in his direction and pick up the phone. "I know that he has spent his adult life in doomed relationships because he was brainwashed into denying his genuine identity, his real feelings and needs! And I thought my dad was a piece of work!"

"Yeah?" the elder Wilson began to yell. "Did your father know that his son was a fucking faggot?"

Having heard quite enough, House brought up his cane fast and rammed the curved handle end into the Wilson family jewels. Joe collapsed to the floor in agony. House glowered down at him.

"Oops!" the diagnostician said loudly. "I prefer the term _sexually eclectic_. It sounds more sophisticated, don't you think?" Lowering his voice House murmured to Joe, "Don't worry. I won't be the one to tell James about this little exchange. For some strange reason he still idolizes you."

House picked up the discarded chair and carried it with him into Wilson's IC room, not looking back at the man writhing in the corridor.

Nancy looked up when she heard him enter. House set the chair at the end of the bed and took a seat.

"Where did Joe go, Greg?" she asked him, frowning slightly. "He told me he was going to help you find a couple of chairs."

"I think he's gone to freshen up," House lied, straight-faced. "Air travel, you know."

Wilson's mother looked at him strangely for a moment before smiling, nodding, and turning back to look at her son.

House looked to Wilson's peaceful, sleeping face. _What kinds of things did your father and his kind do to you to make you so repressed for so long? _he thought in anger and sadness.

**(TBC….)**


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Wounded Birds

Author: pgrabia

Disclaimer: : House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

Characters/Pairing(s): House/Wilson Pre-slash (possible slash later on)

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort.

Word Count: 3608

A/N & Warnings: Based on a prompt given to me by Christikat: House finds out that Wilson was abused as a child. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to **George Stark II** for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! Also posted at LiveJournal and Dreamwidth.

Rating: M for adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse.

(~*~)

Chapter Nine

Wilson awoke again around nine o'clock that evening.

Joe had returned to the room about half-an-hour after House had returned from their altercation. The older man went to stand by his wife, giving House the evil eye many times throughout the evening. Around seven Nancy had taken Joe with her down to the hospital cafeteria to grab a bite to eat. She'd insisted on bringing food and drink back to House even though he had assured her that he was fine. They were away for about forty minutes. Nancy had brought a bowl of soup, sandwich and a cup of coffee for House and then sat there and forced him to eat it while she supervised with a smile. The diagnostician had admitted to himself that he was hungry and the food went down easily. He had given Nancy a small appreciative smile and nodded when she had asked, "See, you feel better now, don't you, Greg? Of course you do!"

House rolled his eyes.

If Joe had told his wife about their earlier 'discussion', the woman didn't show it. He suspected that her husband had said nothing, perhaps because he hadn't wanted to upset her, or perhaps because she had no clue about her son's attraction to men or more specifically his best friend. Was it possible she hadn't known anything about the way Joe had handled his son's homosexuality, or possibly she had never known Wilson was sexually attracted to the same gender to begin with? Whatever the answer was, she seemed blissfully unaware of the tension between Joe and House.

Around eight-thirty Joe decided he'd had enough for one day and had tried to convince his wife to head to their hotel for the night and return in the morning. Nancy had refused to leave so Joe had left on his own. The atmosphere in the small IC room had relaxed almost immediately, much to House's relief. He wouldn't have minded if Wilson's mother had left as well so he could be alone with the oncologist but he decided if there had to be someone else there, she was pleasant enough company.

In the half-an-hour before Wilson awoke neither of them spoke much. House was brooding over what he had discovered concerning a portion of Wilson's childhood and Nancy appeared to be lost in serious thoughts of her own. House's ruined thigh was causing him more pain than usual, probably because he hadn't been on it much over the past couple of days and it was cramping up. He also knew that his tolerance for pain was usually reduced when he was exhausted, sick, or under emotional stress, so it made the pain seem so much worse, even if it wasn't as bad in reality. He began to absently rub his damaged right thigh with his hand and grimaced every so often. He was already maxed out on his non-opiate pain killers which didn't do a damned thing for him when his leg flared.

"A heating pad would help," Nancy told him quietly. "Moist heat would be even better. When my brother Bernie lost his arm in Vietnam, he had pain where it had been amputated. He would soak towels in steaming hot water and wrap them around the area. He said it helped some."

Of course, House already knew that moist heat would help ease some of the cramping in his damaged muscle but he didn't exactly have access to it at present and wasn't about to leave Wilson's side to find a source.

"I usually take hot baths when it gets bad," House told her, avoiding her eyes. "It helps. I used to take Vicodin for it but had to quit when I started having complications from it. Non-opiod pain killers aren't strong enough." He sighed. "I make do."

"Couldn't you use a drug like Vicodin but not Vicodin? Or do they all have that effect on you?" she asked him.

"I don't want to test them to find out," the diagnostician told her and then sighed. "I became dependent on Vicodin and over time took quantities that were dangerously high. It caused me to begin to hallucinate and have psychotic events. So it was either detox and restore my sanity or keep using and end up going completely insane. I like sanity."

"James never mentioned that to Joe and me," Nancy informed him, slightly dismayed. "When he calls me he usually talks about his work and hobbies forty percent of the time and the rest is usually all about you. He didn't mention anything at all about being back with that ex-wife or asking you to move out."

House raised an eyebrow in curiosity upon hearing that. He hadn't known that Wilson talked so much about him to them. Strangely it caused warmth to fill his chest knowing that.

"If he has to resort to talking about me," House deflected, "then he really needs to get a life."

"He has one," Nancy told him after a giggle escaped her. She reached over and patted the knee on his good leg. "He spends a lot of it with you. Or, at least he used to. I imagine you two saw each other less once he began dating Samantha again." She said the name as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.

"That usually happens when one's friend enters a romantic relationship with someone else," House told her half-heartedly, then mentally cringed when he realized he had actually said the last word out loud.

Nancy nodded in agreement and sighed. There were a few minutes of silence again before she spoke.

"I think James's most successful relationship has been with you, Greg," she told him pensively. Occasionally she would glance in his direction to check his reaction. "You're good for him."

House bit his bottom lip. He wished that were true, but he wasn't convinced of it.

"Come, now. I know that you're in love with my son," she told him sotto voce.

Caught off-guard, House had no idea what to say in that moment. Either she had figured it out on her own or Joe told her over dinner. Either way, House felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach.

Great, he thought ruefully, here we go again—Round two!

When House neither confirmed nor denied the fact, Nancy looked him face on. Her expression was soft and calm, which was a good sign, but….

"In fact," she added, her eyes smiling slyly and the corners of her mouth pulling upwards, "you have been for years now, haven't you?"

House forced himself to meet her unwavering gaze, brown eyes meeting blue. Wilson definitely got his good looks from his mother.

"I've known since…Amber," the diagnostician finally admitted, and it felt so good to get that off of his chest. "When I realized I was jealous of her and not just for the amount of time Wil—James—spent with her, it dawned on me."

Wilson's mother nodded with understanding. House realized she wasn't upset, which was a bit of a surprise to him, considering her husband's reaction. Perhaps that was why Joe hadn't wanted to have their conversation in front of Nancy; he knew she would be opposed to his bigotry.

"Does he know how you feel?" she asked him, smiling softly.

Sighing, House nodded. The creases on his forehead smoothed out somewhat as he began to relax.

"Good," Nancy told him, her smile broadening. She patted House's knee gently. "Because he's been in love with you for a lot longer than that, he's just refused to allow himself to see it. I know my son. He's been too afraid of what he thought his father and I would think about his feelings for you. He's always wanted to make us proud, as if he were trying to compensate somehow for his brothers. He always tried to protect and take care of them, even when they were children." She sighed. "But you know how James is."

House smirked. He did indeed. The fact that she knew about her son's love for someone of the same sex intrigued him and he was curious to find out just how much she knew about her husband's homophobia and treatment of his son. He couldn't see this gentle, caring woman (her son was so much like her) agreeing with the abuse that had been inflicted upon Wilson. Had she known it was happening, or had Joe managed to keep his wife in the dark?

"Tell me," Wilson's mother said almost conspiratorially, "is that why Samantha decided to dump him again? Did she know you were in love with James and that he felt the same way for you?"

"Although I had suspected it from time to time, I didn't know that Wilson was in love with me until yesterday, when he told me so at the accident scene and then this morning when he confirmed it," House admitted, unable to hide a small shy smile from her. He rolled his eyes at himself for acting like a twitter-pated sixteen-year-old. "I have no idea what exactly she knew. When Wilson woke up the first time, I was asleep and she was at his side. He wrote down my name and hers, then crossed her name out. She must have suspected something and that was simply a confirmation to her. She knew I cared about him more than a friend of the same gender usually does unless they aren't straight. Sam and I had declared war on each other, essentially. I told her that she was a heartless bitch who would only end up hurting him again and that I wasn't going to allow her to do that. I told her I'd outlast her."

"And you did," Nancy told him with a wink. "Thank God! I never could stand the woman! She was always picking on him for everything. He didn't eat well enough, he didn't exercise enough, he wasn't assertive enough, he didn't have enough culture…really, one time I just about asked her why she was dating him if she didn't think there was anything about him that was good enough—but I bit my tongue. I didn't want to become my mother-in-law by interfering in their relationship. When I cried at James's and her wedding, it wasn't for joy—but don't tell him that, Greg. He doesn't need to know. He would only find a way to feel guilty about it and he doesn't need help with that, does he?"

House chuckled, shaking his head. "No, Ma'am. He doesn't."

"Call me Nancy," she told him. "I'm still too young to be called Ma'am."

House nodded. They were quiet again for a while. It was House's turn to break the silence this time. "Have you always known that James wasn't completely straight?" he asked,watching her for her reaction to the question.

She shrugged, her smile fading. "Oh, my. Well, he's probably going to be upset about me telling you this…." Nancy sighed. "There was some indication when he was in ninth grade," was her answer. "He didn't show any interest in girls his own age, and he had only a handful of friends, most of whom were girls who were strictly his buddies, nothing more. He was almost obsessively attached to his best friend Aaron, had a lot of pictures of him, mostly school photos and sports team shots, that he framed and kept everywhere in his room. Sometimes I'd go into his room to say goodnight and I'd catch him just staring at them. He kept a lot of secrets and was frequently moody. He enjoyed staying indoors with me helping me cook or bake, do housework, grocery shop. There wasn't anything overtly stereotypical, though.

"He was always very sensitive; much more so than his older brother. He was fifteen when one day he saw a young robin hit one of the windows of our house. He dropped everything and ran outside to see if this bird was alright. It was stunned and still alive but its wing was broken. Joe told him to kill it and put it out of his misery, that it would never be able to survive among the other birds because it was damaged but James was determined to fix its wing and then set it free. He carefully taped up the wing and cared for this bird for weeks. The day came when he figured the robin was ready to be set free. He planned on doing it the next morning.

"When he woke up the next day he went to get the bird and it was gone. He was upset and searched everywhere for it but couldn't find it. Finally Joe admitted that he took the bird out to set it free. He took the boys outside and I followed. He led them to the spot where the robin laid on the lawn, dead. It was the same bird—it still had adhesive on some of its feathers. It looked like it had been pecked to death. Joe told James that that's what happens to birds that are weaker and different from the others. The strong ones will eliminate the weak, the mutant—survival of the fittest. James actually sobbed a little." She sighed sadly and hesitated before going on. "Joe back handed him and told him to act like a man, not a pansy. James hurried back into the house, got his books for school and left, deciding to walk the two miles rather than ride the bus.

"I chewed Joe out for that and he told me to mind my own business, that he was raising James to be a man and that I was making him effeminate with my protectiveness. I didn't talk to Joe for a week—James wouldn't even look him in the eye for three."

House had listened with fascination. Being sensitive and empathetic didn't make one gay, but Joe's reaction to Wilson and the bird indicated that perhaps the father suspected that his son wasn't straight, or at least had wanted to instill in him the fallacy that manhood didn't include the gentler emotions.

"In eleventh grade was the first time I saw any direct evidence of his attraction to other males," Nancy went on. "Aaron was over studying with James—or so I was led to believe. With his older brother, I was always firm on the fact that he and his girlfriends didn't slowly find their way upstairs to his room alone, but it didn't raise any flags for me when James and Aaron would go to his room. I went upstairs to tell them that dinner was ready and Aaron was welcome to stay if it was alright with his parents. James forgot to lock his bedroom door and I had a bad habit of just barging into places instead of knocking first. I guess you could say I caught them at Third Base." She cleared her throat, looking a little uncomfortable. "And I believe if I had been thirty seconds later they would have been running for Home."

House pressed his lips together to keep himself from smiling at her baseball analogy. "That must have gone over well," he muttered, more to himself than to her but she heard him nonetheless and smirked in amusement.

"Oh, yes," she said, "Well indeed. You have to understand—I've always considered myself a fairly open-minded individual, live and let live, that sort of thing, but it was a bit of a shock to walk into my sixteen-year-old son's bedroom to find him making out with anyone. The fact that it was his male best friend did intensify my reaction, I'll admit. Those poor boys! When I think back on it now, I realize they were not only mortified at being discovered that way but they were also terrified. It was the early Eighties and attitudes were changing, but they were two Jewish boys from a rather conservative Jewish community and, well, alternative lifestyles were not accepted back then. I just wish…" She allowed her voice to trail off as a disturbed expression flitted across her face as she recalled the past. "Well, Aaron went home and we had dinner and didn't talk about it again."

Nancy Wilson had shut down rather suddenly. Obviously there was something more to the story that she hadn't told him, wouldn't tell him, and that only made House more determined to find out what it was. He had a pretty fair suspicion but he wanted her to tell him without having to show his hand. He was about to ask another question when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked over to see Wilson moving slightly and opening his eyes.

House got up and located the paper and pen. He put them in place, briefly smiling genuinely down at Wilson, caressing his skin as he placed the pen in Wilson's left hand.

"Told you I'd be here. Your mom's here. Your dad said he was tired and went back to the hotel."

The diagnostician sat back down. Nancy leaned close to Wilson, gently brushing a lock of hair off of his forehead and smiling lovingly down at him.

"Hi there, handsome," she said to him. Wilson smiled around the tube in response. He began to scribble something down on the paper.

Love you.

"I love you, too," she told him, tearing up slightly. "I'm so glad you're going to be okay. I was so afraid."

I'm sorry.

"Now that's enough of that!" his mother told him firmly with a smile. "No feeling guilty about this. Your father was worn out from the plane ride but he'll be by tomorrow morning to see you."

House wished that he wouldn't be. He had no idea how Joe would behave towards his son now that he knew that Wilson and the older doctor were more than just friends. If it was anything close to how he'd reacted towards House earlier it would be too hard on Wilson in his current condition. It would be hard enough when he was in perfect health. He was determined to make certain Wilson was not allowed to be alone with his father.

"I was just telling Greg how glad your father and I are you have a friend like him to look out for you," Nancy informed Wilson. House bit back the urge he had to counter that declaration by pointing out that Joe was less than thrilled. It would only bother the oncologist and House was holding off on harassing him until he was much stronger.

Wilson's eyes moved to meet the diagnostician's. He then wrote something.

Me too. Saved me. Has habit of doing that.

House's heart swelled in his chest. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. "You're still up on me," he told the younger doctor. "I'll never be able to catch up."

Wilson smiled again then returned his attention to his mother. The smile faded and his eyes became a little fearful. He drew his thick eyebrows together.

Need to tell you something.

"Alright, James," she answered encouragingly, "I'm listening."

Don't tell Dad, OK? I will.

House sat silently. He knew what Wilson was about to tell her and the fact that he was willing to do so spoke of his love for the diagnostician.

"Alright," Nancy agreed mildly. "What is it?"

Wilson glanced at House questioningly, as if asking for permission. House simply nodded once, granting his consent.

The younger doctor's hand hovered above the paper. He was trembling slightly. The monitors displayed a sizable increase in his heart rate and respiration, as well as an increase in blood pressure. House didn't like the effect his fear was having on his body and interrupted, telling him, "Relax! She knows about us, Jimmy. She figured it out all on her own. You need to relax."

Wilson wrote, But how? When?

"I've known about your homosexuality for a long time, James," she told him, caressing his face reassuringly. "I knew it was more than curiosity. I knew that you were in love with Greg after your marriage with Julie failed. You've known for at least that long, too, but you didn't want to admit it, right? That's why your marriages didn't work. You were trying to be someone you weren't."

Wilson wrote nothing, looking away from her. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

"I don't know if it was that way with Amber, too," Nancy continued. "Regardless, you've been trying to deny you have feelings for Greg for quite some time. Don't look so surprised—a mother knows. I didn't know about Sam. But really, James? Samantha? You couldn't find anyone else to hide behind?"

Wilson looked over at House in time to see a smug smirk on the diagnostician's face. He scowled at him in true Wilsonian style and put pen to paper again.

Shut up, House!

House feigned innocence, spreading his hands out before him. "I didn't say anything about your denial and stupidity. Your mom did!"

You wanted to. Jerk!

"Idiot."

Moron.

"Wimp!"

Twerp!

"You know you love me," House threw in, smiling victoriously.

Wilson rolled his eyes, grudgingly smiled, and surrendered, whipping the pen at House, who ducked just in time.

House's eyes sparkled playfully when he said snarkily, "You throw like a girl! I'll tell everyone you're my girlfriend! You're the pretty one, after all. Any guy who knows what culottes are and blow-dries his hair gets to be the girl."

He ducked too late to avoid being hit by the pad of paper.

(TBC….)


	10. Chapter 10

**Title: Wounded Birds**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing(s):** House/Wilson Pre-slash (possible slash later on)

**Genre:** Angst, hurt/comfort, romance, sick!Wilson.

**Word Count:** 2043

**A/N & Warnings:** Based on a prompt given to me by **Christikat**: _House finds out that Wilson was abused as a child_. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to **George Stark II **for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! Also posted at .

Sorry about how short this chapter is, but it was important to end it where I did. I'll post the next chapter in a couple of days and it should be a better length.

**Rating: M** for adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse.

**(~*~)**

**Chapter Ten**

Wilson managed to remain awake for about fifteen minutes, a new record. After he fell back to sleep Nancy and House talked for a while longer. She asked him one question after another about himself, saying she wanted to learn more about her son's significant other. House was never comfortable talking a lot, and especially not about himself, but somehow he felt more comfortable with Nancy than he did most people and answered a few of her questions; of course he got in depth with his answers and he didn't answer every one she posed. Still, it wasn't all that uncomfortable. He wished that Joe Wilson had been as accepting as she was.

Nancy left for the night around ten-thirty. Assured that her son was going to be alright, she had admitted to being exhausted, commenting that she was getting old. The diagnostician didn't object or insist that she wasn't, because, hell, she was. He did tell her that they all were. She smiled at that, gave him a peck on the cheek (earning another eye-roll), and left.

House took a seat in the chair at his best friend's side and studied his face lovingly. He had memorized every facet of Wilson's face and when a new line formed around his eyes or mouth and more hairs turned grey at his temples, House had memorized those, too. He'd been careful to study Wilson that way when the younger man was asleep or passed out from drinking over the years. House smiled at the fact that he no longer had to hide his attention; he could touch his face, his lips and hold his hand when he wanted. He had waited a long time for this and now that it was here he intended to capitalize on it for all it was worth. He caressed Wilson's face and leaned in to brush his lips against his forehead.

"House!"

He knew that voice but hadn't heard her enter the room, which was unusual. Normally he could hear her four inch heels clicking against the tile from yards away. He remained leaning over Wilson, turning his head to face her.

"Cuddy," he said, sighing silently. He had hoped not to see her again that day but he reminded himself that his luck had never been that good. She wore a pair of casual slacks and flats, a T-shirt under a black blazer and her hair pulled up into a pony-tail. Obviously she had been in a hurry to come chew him out.

The Dean of Medicine quickly sized up the situation with cool blue-grey eyes and frowned slightly, setting her jaw. House knew she was bothered by watching him show affection for Wilson. That was one of the reasons why he resisted the urge to kiss Wilson's forehead again before sitting back in his chair. He could be mature and considerate when he chose to be—he just didn't choose to be very often.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be home with your daughter right now?" he asked her coldly.

"I had to come back when I was paged about one of my doctors assaulting a family member of a patient."

House smirked at that. He hadn't expected her to find out about his little incident with Joe until she came in the next morning. Apparently her spies were getting more efficient with their snitching. Of _course_ she wouldn't give him the benefit of the doubt or ask him for his side of the story before storming in to yell at him. That wouldn't be true to form. The thought that she was a woman scorned occurred to him briefly as she stood in the doorway glaring at him, her hands resting on her hips.

"Who tattled on me this time?" he asked almost impudently.

"The victim," she told him with barely restrained fury. "Why the hell would you hit Wilson's father in the genitals? Have you completely lost your mind? He could sue not only you but the hospital as well. I'm sick and tired of this, House! I'm not going to put up with it anymore!"

The diagnostician sighed, too tired to yell, otherwise he would have. "Can we discuss this _outside _Wilson's room? He needs his sleep." House rose to his feet, grabbing his cane. He walked for the door but Cuddy wouldn't budge.

"You just don't want him to know that you attacked his father," she accused, scowling.

"_Duh_!" House responded sarcastically. "He's in no condition to be upset about this. _Outside_."

He stared her down. Cuddy relented and walked out of the room with House immediately behind. Before she could begin her tirade, House made certain he got the first word. He spoke with remarkable restraint, not for her nor for the hospital but for Wilson.

"Joe Wilson is a bigot," House told her firmly. "He saw me hold Wilson's hand and was pissed off by it. He followed me out here to threaten me. He wanted to go to my office to talk. When I refused he threw a chair and grabbed my collar, making foul comments and calling me foul names. He intended on hurting me so I defended myself. You don't believe me? Go ask the nurses at the station. They witnessed what went on."

"He's a _father_ who just found out his _son_ might be in a relationship with another _man_," Cuddy argued. "He's upset and worried about his son, who just about died. How did you expect him to react?"

"Like the loving father I had always mistaken him to be," House responded, feeling his own temper rising, "not some Neo-Nazi ready to take me where there are no witnesses to beat the shit out of me. You think I wanted to hurt him? Up until today we got along fine—he was one of the few people in the world I actually respected—until he found out I want to do his son; then he wanted to teach me a lesson."

"You don't know that," Cuddy said, but she looked like she might be wavering in her certainty. "He might have just wanted to talk things through and lost his temper when you disregarded him."

"You weren't there," he spat resentfully. "You didn't witness what really happened. Before Wilson took off yesterday he was upset about a clinic patient being beaten up by his father for being gay. Wilson was babbling, and it didn't make much sense right away, but I've had time to puzzle it out. Wilson's homosexual tendencies aren't anything new; he was born that way to a man who hates homosexuals and used 'tough love', a.k.a. beatings and who knows what else, to purge him of his _perversions_—Wilson's father's terminology, no doubt. Think about it. Three failed marriages, a girlfriend with cancer who he knew was dying, and Sam again—they were just his attempt to be the straight American male his father expected of him. _Beards_. Oh, he convinced himself he was in love with them at the time because he was so trapped in denial but he quickly grew discontented. The only woman Wilson might have genuinely been in love with was Amber, but he has even admitted that she reminded him of me."

"So why did he all of a sudden stop living in denial and want to start _fucki_ng you?" Cuddy demanded, her anger obviously fueled by hurt and jealousy.

"Almost dying has a way of making a man reevaluate his life and what he really wants out of it," the diagnostician told her. "Trust me, I know. Until I pulled that stupid stunt with the knife and the power outlet and electrocuted myself, I was in denial of how I felt for him. When I woke up in a hospital bed and saw Wilson sitting there, pissed as hell at me but also…hurt and scared, I realized that it was no use trying to fight it. Hell, I even _told_ him that I loved him but he didn't take me seriously; I think he may have thought it was a sarcastic thank-you for increasing my morphine. Once he began dating Amber and I became as intensely jealous as I was, there was no doubt."

Cuddy was quiet for a few moments. She cleared her throat and bit her lip. "If you knew you were in love with him," she asked, her voice quavering slightly, "why didn't you tell him then? I mean, tell him _again_, and make it clear that you were serious?"

House looked down at her, saw the sadness and felt a pang of guilt.

"I didn't know he felt the same way," he told her softly. "In fact, it didn't even occur to me that he might, and when he started dating Amber I assumed it was confirmation that he didn't."

"If you knew all of this, why did you start pursuing me?" she asked, genuinely confused. They were no longer yelling at each other. The anger had been spent. "Why did you lead me on?"

He would have answered the question right away if he'd actually had an answer for her. Actually, he did have an answer—he just didn't know how to tell her it without hurting her further. He had already said things to her that day that he regretted having said.

House sighed. "I could ask you the same question. Why did you continue to flirt with me when I came back from Mayfield even though you were already involved with Lucas? The answer?—because…that's how it is with us. The pursuing is more fun than the actual catching. We've been flirting since college, and we knew it would go nowhere good. But we had to try it…just in case. We did and it didn't work. In Mayfield I realized I was capable of feeling love again and I was tired of pushing people away. I wanted a real relationship. I had convinced myself that Wilson would never feel for me the way I did for him, so I tried to move on with you."

"I was the backup plan," Cuddy said bitterly, looking away from him. "And here I thought you loved me."

The diagnostician placed a finger under her chin and gently lifted her face to look at him. "I _did_ love you. I _do_ love you…but I've never been _in_ love with you. I thought that if we were together and I could put my feelings for Wilson aside, in time I would fall in love with you. But I didn't. It just doesn't work that way. I never meant to hurt you."

"But you did," she whispered, her eyes tearing up, "because I actually _am_ in love with you."

Closing his eyes for a moment, House focused on pushing away the guilt he was feeling by telling himself that if he hadn't ended it now, it would only have hurt more later. He had no answer to give her; he had no idea _what_ to say. So he opted on simply saying the truth.

"I'm…sorry." He knew those two words were pathetically inadequate, but then again, he wondered if there were any words that would have been adequate enough. He didn't say those words often, even when he was. His pride would never allow him.

Cuddy quickly wiped a tear off of her cheek and nodded.

"If anyone asks," she said softly, "I dumped you, okay? It's humiliating for a woman to have her boyfriend dump her for another man."

House half-smiled sadly and nodded. Cuddy took a deep, shuddering breath and exhaled.

"I'll let Mr. Wilson know that threatening one of my doctors is unacceptable—just try not to bag anyone else for, oh, at least a couple of weeks?"

"No promises," the diagnostician told her, lifting his eyebrows once, impishly.

Cuddy shook her head, turned, and walked away.

Watching her go, House wondered if she would be able to forgive him in time. Wilson had been right when he'd once told him that he could be a jerk sometimes. He'd considered getting a warning label tattooed on his forehead but had decided against it at the last minute. That thought amused him. He went back to Wilson's room.

**(TBC…)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Title: Wounded Birds**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing(s):** House/Wilson Pre-slash (possible slash later on)

**Genre:** Angst, hurt/comfort, romance.

**Word Count:** 2288

**A/N & Warnings:** Based on a prompt given to me by **Christikat:** House finds out that Wilson was abused as a child. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to **George Stark II** for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! Also posted at .

**Rating: M** for adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse. (Possible NC-17 later)

**(~*~)**

**Chapter Eleven**

Opening his eyes had never seemed like a chore before the accident. Now his eyelids felt like they were made of lead and each time he woke up it took quite a bit of energy from him just to do it. Once they were open and he became more alert, he felt stronger and keeping them open, writing with a pen—they were relatively easy. It was just the first action of lifting his lids that taxed him the most.

This time when he awoke, the light in the room around him was dimmer than it had been the last time he was conscious. Since he had no sense of time right now, he had no idea whether it was day or night, but there were clues. Like the lights being low, the noise of traffic outside his room being nearly non-existent, and the sound of light snoring that came from the chair beside his bed. It was night, or very early morning. How long had he been in the world of shadows before returning to consciousness? Hours? Days? He had no idea.

Wilson moved his eyes in the direction of the snoring, turning his head as much as he could without disturbing the tube in his windpipe and causing himself discomfort. House sat reclined with his feet on Wilson's bed, his head lolled to the side, sleeping fitfully. Every so often he would shift in the recliner, trying to find a more comfortable position. The oncologist was of the opinion that his best friend should go home, sleep in his bed, shower and trim his scruff; he needed to take care of himself. Sleeping in that chair was bound to cause him back problems and it couldn't be good for his leg, either.

However, he knew that even if he could speak to get House's attention and tell him to go home, he wouldn't. It was both annoying and incredibly comforting. Wilson had never known anyone as loyal as House had proven himself to be. He was certainly a better friend to him than he felt he'd been to the diagnostician. He couldn't believe that he'd done it again—jumped into yet another ill-fated relationship only to push House away as he usually did. Never before had he alienated House with his ex-wives and girlfriends like he had this time with Sam.

His mother had been right about his denial of his true feelings and hiding behind women to delude himself into thinking that he was heterosexual and didn't want to fuck his best friend. He had been doing it his entire adult life, compulsively.

Sam had been his last ditch effort to convince himself that he wasn't in love with House. He could admit it now, but just a few months before he'd been desperate to force his true thoughts and feelings away. After House had returned from Mayfield Wilson had found himself much too happy to see him and have him back drug-free and mentally stable. He'd grown nervous, not liking the feelings that had been lurking just under the surface, so he'd begun to look for reasons to kick House out. There had been the grouchy neighbor in the suite below Amber's apartment, and then House's objections to the oncologist's decision to donate a portion of his liver to his friend, Tucker. Neither time had he actually followed through and evicted House.

He hadn't been able to follow through with it, even though having him so close all of the time had begun to bring those forbidden thoughts and desires to the surface. Knowing that House was sleeping in the neighboring room after catching the older man masturbating under a blanket had caused Wilson to harden every time he recalled the incident. Smelling House's shampoo and soap and his own unique scent on the furniture, in the air and sitting together watching TV as well as having their hands brush when they both would reach for the remote control at the same time nearly drove him insane with lust. It had frightened him and thrilled him at the same time.

He'd worried that if House was left alone in his own apartment he would get depressed, or suffer breakthrough pain on his own, without help, without someone to keep him from scoring some Vicodin and relapsing. Wilson had had nightmares of that happening, of House beginning to hallucinate and live in a delusional state perhaps never to emerge again. He'd decided he could keep his perversions under control for his best friend's sake. He'd had to remind himself that House was straight and might be so offended that he would end their friendship if he found out that Wilson wasn't and had been lusting for him for years. That had worked for a while, but not for long.

He'd been secretly relieved when Cuddy announced that she was dating Lucas, surprising both House and himself at the medical conference. Even though he'd been the one who pushed House towards her in the first place—part of the denial, the removal of temptation as it were—deep down he'd hoped a relationship between the diagnostician and the Dean of Medicine would fail all on its own. He'd hated seeing House hurt like he had upon that discovery. Wilson had wanted to make it go away for his friend but wasn't able to, so he plotted revenge instead, buying the loft out from underneath Cuddy's and Lucas's noses.

The longer they lived together, the harder it had become to deny the truth, to hide his desire. They had seemed to get closer every day. House had been different than before in a good way. He'd still been arrogant and selfish and a jerk, but he had become more open about talking about things, about himself. He'd helped out more around the apartment and then later the loft. He'd been regularly attending his therapy sessions with Dr. Nolan; he'd shown true affection more than before, laughed easier and seemed more at peace.

Wilson had begun to fall deeper into love with House every day. It had gotten to the point where he'd been ready to break down and tell House the truth, consequences be damned. He'd bought House the organ just to see the joy on his face when he saw it for the first time, and had been rewarded wonderfully. House had stared at him for the longest time with those beautiful blue eyes of his and Wilson hadn't been able to look away. For a fraction of a second, he could have sworn House wanted him as much as he wanted the older man. For a fraction of a second he'd considered closing the distance between them and smashing his mouth into House's and kissing him with more pent up passion than he ever had with anyone else before and he'd been almost certain House would have returned the kiss. But Wilson had waited a moment too long and that look in House's eyes had disappeared. He'd turned around to try out his new gift and Wilson had retreated to his bedroom to hide in bed; he had taken care of his rock hard erection while trying futilely not to imagine that it was his best friend's hand bringing him pleasure and release.

The next morning Wilson had realized that he'd come too close to ruining everything he'd worked so hard to establish and hold on to. He'd determined that he had to stop it before it became an avalanche that overwhelmed him and carried him straight downhill with it. He'd heard his father in his dreams all night long reminding him to be a man, warning him to never allow his perversions to overwhelm him or he'd face the consequences. The consequences had been so terrible the first time around that Wilson had sworn never to do anything to bring them upon himself again.

That evening Sam had contacted him on Facebook and he'd jumped at what he thought would be his salvation and rescue from going too far with House. It really had been his idea to ask House to move out of the loft, not Sam's. As long as House had been there Wilson hadn't been able to make love to Sam without catching himself fantasizing that it was the diagnostician in his arms. He'd felt guilty about pushing his best friend away, but reasoned it was better this way for both of them. He'd convinced himself that he was preserving their friendship, which meant more to him than anything else in the world—including Sam.

Wilson had told himself that he would fall in love with his ex-wife over time, and he'd get a rein on his perversions again and then he wouldn't have to push House away any longer. At the time he'd known he was only kidding himself, and then had forced himself to deny that knowledge as well. He'd gone to House's apartment to talk with his best friend and had become almost insanely jealous at discovering that the older man hadn't been miserable and alone without him. In fact, he had been frolicking around his apartment with the young man who had been the diagnostician's roommate at Mayfield and had been living with House for a short period of time. He'd learned from House that it hadn't been his idea and had deduced that there was nothing sexual or romantic going on between them. House had appeared not to need the oncologist to be happy anymore. Wilson had told himself that that was a good thing, that that's what he'd wanted for years, but it hadn't worked. He'd gone home to Sam and sulked.

Then before he knew it, 'Alvie' had left the picture and in his place Cuddy had moved in on House after all. She'd dumped Lucas apparently at the drop of a hat and had gone running to House with professions of love. They'd become a couple, had begun to live together, and House had appeared to be happier and more settled than he had in years. Wilson had choked back his jealousy again, tortured by the fact that he'd been their number one cheerleader at one time; his own mind had tormented him with the thought that he'd lost his chance to have House for himself and he'd never see it again.

Then two teenage boys had shown up at the clinic, two boys in love with each other, one having been beaten by his own father for being gay, as if the boy had had any say over that, as if he hadn't been born that way. Memories of making out with his best friend Aaron when they had been that age had flashed through his head. He'd recalled the time his mother had caught them in his room, but there had been times after that, times when they had made love against all of the rules and traditions and the Law of Moses and their fathers' threats. Joe Wilson had taken his son to the garage and had beaten him senseless with the handle of a push broom.

After the beaten boy from the clinic had been rushed to emergency surgery, Wilson hadn't been able to stop the flood of thoughts and feelings and terrifying flashbacks. He'd gone directly to his office with the intent of getting his stuff and heading home to wait for Sam, to have her help him repress the memories again. Instead he'd found House, of all people. House, the man he was hopelessly in love with—the first person since Aaron. Not even Amber had meant as much to him as his best friend.

So Wilson had panicked, had fled the hospital, had broadsided a minivan and had been certain that he was going to die; House had been there at the collision site and Wilson hadn't wanted to wait a moment too long again and miss the chance to say good-bye and I love you to the love of his life. So he'd just said it and then passed out.

Now he found himself on the cusp of something he'd secretly wanted but had never anticipated to come true. He was excited and terrified. He had a pretty good idea how his father would react when he found out, but he wasn't so much afraid for himself as he was for House.

House's face was turned in his direction, looking so peaceful in his sleep. Wilson smiled and reached out as far as he could towards him. He was just able to cup the older man's cheek in his hand. His best friend's face was covered in whiskers; the scruff was one or two days longer than House usually wore it and it was quickly becoming an actual beard. His face, lined with character, was warm. Wilson caressed his cheekbone with his thumb.

Two cerulean eyes opened to look at the oncologist. Wilson found that he could get lost looking into those eyes, they were so clear yet deep. House smiled genuinely; it filled Wilson with warmth and caused him to catch his breath. The diagnostician turned his face so he could kiss the palm of Wilson's hand. Those blue eyes slid closed. The younger man tried to pull his hand away gently but House reached up and grasped it with his own, keeping it in place. His eyes opened again and he sat up. He stood and leaned over the oncologist, coming down to place tender little kisses on his face wherever he could find skin that wasn't covered in dressings or blocked off by the tubing.

Wilson smiled, and savored the closeness of him until he drifted back to sleep.

**(TBC….)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Title: Wounded Birds**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing(s):** House/Wilson Pre-slash (possible slash later on)

**Genre:** Angst, hurt/comfort, romance.

**Word Count:**

**A/N & Warnings:** Based on a prompt given to me by Christikat: House finds out that Wilson was abused as a child. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to **George Stark II** for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! Unfortunately, she is away this week so this particular chapter is unbeta-ed so as always all mistakes are mine and there are going to be considerably more of them this time. I'm sorry.

**Rating: R (M)** for adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse. (Possible NC-17 later)

**(~*~)**

**Chapter Twelve**

Early the next morning House took a shower in the doctor's locker room and put on a clean pair of scrubs to wear around the hospital. He'd called Dr. Chase at home, waking the Australian up to tell him to stop by the diagnostician's apartment to pick up a change of clothing for him before coming in to work. Now that Wilson was doing much better and there was little chance of him crashing suddenly House didn't feel guilty about leaving his side for short periods of time. After his shower he headed down to the cafeteria which was just opening for breakfast. He was starving and his mouth watered as soon as he encountered the scent of freshly brewed coffee and bread toasting. He loaded up a tray with a full stack of pancakes and syrop, bacon, toast with strawberry jam, a chocolate chip muffin, a sausage and cheese breakfast sandwich, a carton of whole milk and a large cup of French roast coffee, black and super-sweet. He skillfully balanced it with his left hand and arm while he limped with his cane in its normal appendage and made his way back up to ICU.

As he entered the elevator he saw Dr. Taub running to catch the car before the doors slid shut. House punched the close doors button with his cane but he didn't do it soon enough and the diminutive doctor managed to block the doors with his arm. House sighed in disappointment and moved to the side to give his fellow adequate personal space. House pressed for the second floor, Taub for the fourth where Diagnostics was located.

"Good Morning," Taub said without a great deal of enthusiasm but smiling slightly. "Obviously you have no fear of the effects of fat and cholesterol on your arteries."

"Nope," House answered. "I got word that the team managed to solve the last case without me. Good."

"It's almost like we don't need you," Taub told him slyly.

"Solve one case I had already figured out ten minutes after reading the patient's file and you get cocky…doubly good. You're fortunate to have such an outstanding teacher."

Taub looked at his boss with a combination of curiosity and amusement. "You're in a particularly good mood today. Why do I suddenly have a feeling of impending doom?"

"Because you're a paranoid elfin creature with a serious case of guilt," House told him. "How _is_ that eighteen-year-old student nurse you're doing behind your wife's back, anyway?" The elevator doors opened on the second floor and House stepped off the car.

"I'm _not_ having an affair," Taub insisted irritably. "How many times do I have to tell you that before you believe me?"

"However many times it takes before you stop protesting too much," the diagnostician quipped. The doors closed on Taub's colorful response. A wicked little smile crossed House's face as he headed into Intensive Care. One annoying troll driven to distraction, a hospital full of idiots left to go.

House entered Wilson's room to find the RT (Respiratory Therapist) in there with him. The oncologist was awake, listening carefully as she explained to him what they were about to do. They were going to be testing him to see if he could breathe on his own without the ventilator doing part of the work for him. All concerned were anxious to remove his breathing tube as soon as possible due to the increased risk to Wilson of contracting pneumonia it posed.

Placing his tray down on the wheeled table, House sat quietly and listened in. He wasn't certain if Wilson had actually noticed he was back which was good; he had to be focusing on breathing on his own rather than on his friend.

"Alright, Dr. Wilson," Tracey the RT said to him calmly. "So what's going to happen is I'm going to turn the ventilator off, but you will still have air delivery to breathe. I'll time you to see how long you can continue breathing on your own while I also monitor your respiration rate, heart rate and oxygen saturation. The good news is, you haven't been intubated too long so you probably won't have to go so far as to relearn how to breathe on your own. The bad news is you are still quite weak and we haven't been able to reduce your morphine yet, and these things may work against you. You have to be able to maintain an oxygen sat of ninety-five or better to even consider removing the tube. This first try you may find that you tire quite quickly and will have to have the ventilator assist in your breathing again. If so, it's not unusual after the kind of trauma you've experienced and we'll try again in a day or two. Just remain calm and try to breathe normally, okay?"

Wilson nodded slightly. House could tell by the look in his brown eyes that he was nervous. If he allowed himself to get too nervous or start to panic he would likely fail the test this time.

"Wait," House told Tracey quietly. Wilson's eyes fell on the diagnostician as the RT turned to face him.

"Yes, Dr. House?" she asked politely.

"See his heart rate?" House pointed out, nodding at the monitor. "His anxiety level is rising. Wilson, you need to relax."

The younger man shrugged but there was no change in his vitals. House moved to the chair next to Wilson's side and took the oncologist's hand in his own, squeezing it warmly and caressing his face with his other hand.

"It's alright," House told him in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. "Just breathe, it's not rocket science. Don't try to look at the monitor, just look at me and try not to get all hot and bothered by how incredibly sexy I am."

A grin broke out around the breathing tube and Wilson rolled his eyes. House couldn't help but chuckle softly. He could see and hear that his best friend's heart rate had slowed again.

Tracey smiled at House's comment. She turned the ventilator to standby and allowed Wilson to take a handful of breaths before telling him that they had begun already.

"Don't say that I've never done anything for you," the diagnostician told Wilson, frowning slightly. "My breakfast is getting cold while I'm holding your hand. You now owe me Macadamia nut pancakes every Saturday for the rest of my life. I say my life because I'm getting to be an old bastard and with the way I've abused my body you'll outlive me by at least twenty years. Of course, the pancakes will have to wait until after morning nookie. We'll need to work up appetites first."

As House continued to talk about what they would be doing once Wilson was discharged from the hospital and catching him up on the hospital gossip his best friend stared unwaveringly into his eyes. House didn't break that connection to check on Wilson's vitals and oxygen saturation, knowing that it would distract the oncologist enough that his anxiety could spike again.

"Cuddy and I talked things out last night," he told his best friend, looking and sounding a little sad. "She's not going to get over it easily but at least I don't think I have to watch my back for flying daggers. Your mother and I had an interesting conversation. She spilled the beans on you and provided me with enough blackmail material to keep me amused and you at my mercy for quite some time."

"We're done," Tracey announced after twenty minutes, and House noticed that she hadn't engaged the ventilator again. She looked pleased. "I think we can remove that tube, Dr. Wilson. You seem to be breathing well enough on your own. Your vitals are satisfactory and your oxygen saturation is at ninety-seven and holding. I'm still going to keep you with an oxygen mask and evaluate that tomorrow."

Wilson grinned as well as he could. Tracey did the honors of removing the tube. Wilson coughed and coughed as he brought up mucus and reacted to the added irritation to his throat as the tube rubbed his windpipe on its way out. Once that settled down Tracey located a sterile mask and tubing. She connected the tubing to the oxygen source and carefully fitted the mask onto the oncologists face.

"I'm going to go now, but if you need anything just have me paged," she told the two men. "I'll leave a note for the nursing staff to check up on your breathing stats every thirty minutes."

With that she was gone.

"I thought she'd never leave," House muttered, shaking his head. "Your parents should be up shortly and there's something I need to talk with you about before they do." He wasn't certain this was an ideal time to broach this particular topic but he didn't have much choice. He wanted to let Wilson know that there may be some trouble brewing ahead with his father so he wasn't caught off guard.

Wilson lifted the mask slightly to talk, and when he did his voice was little more than a whisper. "What's wrong?"

House frowned. "Who said anything was wrong?"

Wilson gave him his classic 'Who do you think you're kidding?' scowl.

Sighing the older man said, "Okay, okay. Don't get upset, okay?"

"How do you expect me not to get upset when you preface the topic like that?" the oncologist replied. He took a couple of deep breaths and then asked, "Are you going to tell me?"

With a sigh House squeezed Wilson's hand a little tighter and swallowed hard. He didn't want his best friend to take this the wrong way and thus create a rift between them already.

"You're father knows that we've become more than just best friends," House told him somberly, staring at Wilson's left ear instead of meeting his eyes. "He noticed me holding your hand and caressing it. I was doing it without thinking. Your mom was cool with it, but…." he allowed his voice trail away. Was it necessary to tell the younger man the rest of the story? Did he really need to know how Joe Wilson had threatened him and how the diagnostician had defended himself?

Wilson's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates it seemed and there was definitely fear in them which he quickly tried to hide, throwing on an expression of calm, but House wasn't fooled. His heart rate had increased by over ten beats per minute and his respirations were elevated as well. It not only worried House to see such anxiety attempt to overwhelm Wilson; it infuriated him. No son should be that afraid of a parent for any reason. House understood that fear. As a child he had lived with it pretty much every day. John House had been a cruel bastard. As he'd aged House had translated his fear into anger—well, most of it anyway. Any leftover fear showed itself in his frequent nightmares and the occasional flashback. It appeared, however, that even as an independent adult Wilson could be terrified by the man.

"W-what did he say?" the oncologist asked, lifting his oxygen mask with his free right hand. "D-did he d-do anything?"

House hesitated a moment too long in answering and that was answer enough as far as his best friend was concerned. His heart rate and breathing increased again, as well as his blood pressure.

"Wilson, you need to calm down," House told him sternly, his eyebrows meeting in concern. "Relax. I won't allow anyone to hurt you. Trust me."

Wilson shook his head and said, "Who w-will protect you?"

There it was, the older man acknowledged. So Wilson was aware that his father's reaction would be strong enough to cause him to be potentially violent. That meant that Wilson had witnessed it (or experienced it?) himself personally. A knot began to form in House's stomach as his protective nature kicked in.

"I can protect myself," House assured him softly, brushing a couple of stray hairs off of Wilson's brow. This only elicited a strong shaking of Wilson's head.

"Y-you don't know…what my father is c-capable of, House," he whispered in response, swallowing hard, his eyes moving from his best friend to the door several times. "Y-you have no idea what he could d-do to you, or me. You need to leave. G-go to your office. Go h-home. Anywhere b-but here."

Now House was becoming really worried and angry. What the hell had that asshole done to his own son to horrify him so?

"I'm not going anywhere," the diagnostician told him firmly. "I'm especially not going to leave you alone with him. If he plans on doing anything to you it'll be over my dead body!"

Wilson gasped. A tear fell from his eye. "He might just do that."

House quickly brushed the tear from his best friends face. He needed to know what had happened to Wilson. What had Joe done to his son?

"Wilson—James," House said gently, quietly. He was hoping that by using his first name he might be able to put the younger man at ease. "What did he do to you to make you so afraid of him? I know it's probably hard to talk about, but I need to know. I need to know what we're dealing with." His blue eyes met Wilson's beseechingly. House kissed his hand lovingly. "You can tell me. I will _not_ betray your secret."

The oncologist licked his chapped lips and tried to take a couple of deep breaths. He hesitated nearly a full minute before answering but House waited patiently in silence, caressing Wilson's knuckle with the thumb of one hand and his face with his other.

"I-it happened a long time ago," the younger man began tentatively, still checking the door frequently. As he talked he paused frequently for breath. "Since I was old enough to care about such things I've known that I wasn't straight. I'm not even Bi, really, or if I am it's not an even balance. I only dated girls because if I had taken a guy to a movie to make out I would have had the shit beat out of me. The Torah is clear about God's detestation of homosexuality. The 'man shall not lay with a man' thing was drilled into my brothers and me repeatedly growing up. When I made out with girls I imagined I was kissing the boy I was crushing on at the time.

"I was twelve when a new family, also Jewish, moved into our neighborhood. They had a son who was my age named Aaron. We became fast friends as did our parents. Aaron and I were always together. We went to the same school, were in the same classes, spent lunch hour together, walked home from school together…well, you get the idea. I developed a huge crush on him and when one day he kissed me behind his parents' garage I realized he liked me too. We didn't date—how could we? We knew how our parents felt about gays so things didn't change all that much between us for another couple of years.

"I was sixteen and a half and he was seventeen before things became serious between us. I had no doubt in my mind that I was in love with Aaron and I know without a doubt he felt the same way about me. We had to be very careful when we were together to make certain our families didn't find out about us. There was one time when Aaron was over and he and I were up in my bedroom, supposedly studying—"

"Studying each other's anatomy," House interrupted with a little smirk. He was already fascinated by Wilson's story. "Your mother told me about how she barged in on the two of you."

"She did?" Wilson responded in surprise. "Did she tell you anything else?"

"Nothing interesting," House assured him. "I'm expecting that from you. Go on."

Nodding the younger man continued. "The first time we…made love…was behind his grandfather's bale shed. I'd gone to his grandparents' farm with him for a couple of weeks that summer. That's when I knew for certain that I wanted to be with Aaron forever. This went on for about four months, and we were almost caught by his mother once but fortunately not.

"I still remember the last time we made love; I didn't know it then but that ended up being the last time I would ever see him again. Aaron's father caught us; we were doing it in the garden shed, of all places. After screaming epithets and curses at both of us he called my father to come pick me up and then sat with me on the curb to wait for him while Aaron was locked in his room. I remember looking up at his window and seeing him peeking out from behind the curtains. He mouthed to me that he loved me and that everything was going to be alright. He knew I was terrified and ready to lose it. My father walked from our house and when he reached Aaron's my father told me to go straight home and wait in my room for him—and he didn't even know what had happened yet. I did as he said and nearly died from anxiety the entire time. My brothers stayed clear of me, not wanting to get caught in the wake of our father's wrath. Meanwhile Aaron's dad and my dad were talking about what Aaron and I had been doing and deciding upon a plan of action. They couldn't agree so they each took care of the situation in their own way."

Wilson paused for a few minutes to rest his sore throat and breathe. House tried to remain patient but as he glanced up at the clock on the wall he could see that it was nearly ten o'clock, the time he expected Mr. and Mrs. Wilson to return. He had to hurry this along a bit.

"What did your fathers do?" the diagnostician prompted.

Sighing heavily Wilson went on. "I don't know exactly what happened to Aaron—all I know is that I never heard from or saw him again. My father came home, calmly kissed my mother and gave my brothers money to go get some cokes, then called me downstairs. He told Mom that we were going to go have a father-son heart-to-heart in the garage. We walked out there calmly. My father even had a smile on his face and for a split second I thought I was going to get off with a talking to, a grounding and that was all. I was an idiot to think that.

"Inside the garage he locked the doors and turned on a radio—loud. Then he tied me to his work bench and beat me merciless with the handle of a broom until I lost consciousness, calling me a faggot, a queen and a cocksucker and everything else you can imagine. He told me that I was the biggest embarrassment they had ever known and he was going to beat the perversion out of me or kill me, one or the other. I screamed and begged him to stop but he had the radio so goddamned loud that no one heard me and if they did they were wise enough not to get involved.

"I woke up hours later in my blood-soaked bed with my mother sobbing and trying to clean me up as best as she could. She begged me to tell her what had happened and why but I couldn't even talk, my jaw was so swollen. My father wanted me to die but Mom told him _she_ was going to take me to the hospital if _he_ didn't. Of course Dad couldn't take me there. How was he going to explain what happened to me?" More tears streamed down Wilson's face as memories buffeted him but when he spoke he was calm. He took a few more deep breaths.

"He told Mom he would take me to the hospital and then carried me to the car and drove me to a friend of his from the same synagogue my family attended who just happened to be an M.D. Dad explained to him, in front of me, what had happened and why. Dr. Berman told Dad to carry me to the spare bedroom of his house where he examined me. He told Dad that he believed I had a concussion and from the blood flowing from my ear it was possible I had a skull fracture as well. My jaw was broken, my radius likely cracked, four fingers on my right hand and two on my left were fractured as well. I had at least two broken ribs and a fracture floating rib. It was possible that my kidneys were bruised badly and from the pain in my abdomen as well as the rigidity I had some form of internal bleeding. One ankle was likely cracked as well as several bones in both of my feet. I was covered in purple and black bruises and cuts."

House had seen x-rays taken of his best friend, but never from his entire body all at once. If there had been a healed scar on a bone he'd assume it was just the result of an active childhood.

"He told my father to take me to the hospital or else I would die." Wilson told him. "Dad finally gave in and took me to the emergency room. He somehow conned the ER doc into believing that I had been attacked by a group of thugs and beaten by them. I had no way of arguing it even if I'd had the courage. I was admitted, had surgery, had bones set, wired, casted or taped and escaped without a skull fracture after all. Two weeks later I was discharged. I still had been too terrified to tell any of the medical staff what had really happened and no one questioned the official story. Instead of taking me home, Dad drove me to the Beth Shalom Rehabilitation camp four hours away in another state and left me there."

House felt his skin begin to crawl. He'd heard about camps like that. They weren't like summer camps—they were more like concentration camps. Their sole purpose was to do whatever was necessary to change a homosexual man into a heterosexual one. It truly was by any means necessary, including torture and brainwashing.

"Conversion therapy," the diagnostician whispered, the very words tasting like acid on his tongue as he spoke them. Wilson—his Wilson—had been put through that horror. A patient of his had suffered neurological harm from it. It turned House's blood cold with near-homicidal rage. It took nearly all of the self-control he had not to walk out of that hospital room and hunt down the bastard who had beaten and tortured his own son and kill him with his bare hands.

Wilson nodded. He looked tired but kept speaking regardless. "I spent two months there. You can't imagine…." his voice broke.

"Don't," House murmured quietly. "If it's too painful, don't go there. I have a pretty good idea of the things they do there. I wish that you hadn't had to go through that."

"I know," Wilson acknowledged with a weak, sad smile. "The worst part is I believed my Dad when he told he did it because he loved me. I never believed in hell until I went to Beth Shalom. I was taught there how to compartmentalize and to deny who I was—who I _am_. Camp 'molded' me into a responsible, respectable and red-blooded heterosexual Jewish man. It spared me the humiliation of being different and spared my parent's reputation as well.

"I suddenly became their _good_ son, the son with hope and potential for a successful future after my brothers failed to meet up to my parents' expectations. I often felt invisible and neglected growing up, especially when Danny began to show abnormalities and David acted like a rebellious jerk. Our parents were so busy trying to deal with them that I was forgotten about, or at least that's what it seemed to me. After camp, for the first time in my life I was the one who received their praise and love. I've spent my whole life trying to keep that. I managed to suppress the memories of my life before college and I kept it relatively secured away for years during pre-Med and Med School and my marriage with Sam. Then…I met a certain rebellious, devil-may-care, handsome, older doctor in a jailhouse in New Orleans and that mental compartment lost some of its integrity."

House couldn't help but grin. "If you're expecting me to apologize for that you're out of luck," he told him.

"Up until just recently I really believed Dad was right—camp had been my salvation. Then I heard about your patient who had endured Conversion Therapy, too. It got me thinking about it again, but not enough to alter my behavior much. After you began dating Cuddy I guess my jealousy forced me to confront who I am and the fact that I love you and wanted to be more than just best friends." Wilson wheezed and House's eyes went straight to the main monitor and the pulse oximeter readout.

"Enough talking for now," House told him in all seriousness. "Your O₂ saturation is down to ninety-two. If it doesn't improve you'll get the tube again."

Wilson nodded, leaving the mask in place over his face. He took slow, deep breaths and tried to relax. Slowly the saturation level began to rise back into the mid-nineties. Once he was at ninety-seven House lifted Wilson's mask long enough to lean in and kiss him. Wilson turned his head away a little.

"I haven't brushed-!" he protested, but House rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"I'll overlook it just this once," the diagnostician told him deeply, staring into the younger man's eyes lovingly. Wilson allowed him to kiss him tenderly, their first real kiss. House gently pulled away only to have Wilson's face follow him, unwilling to let him go. House pressed his lips against Wilson's again and lingered there. He felt breathless; it was better than anything he'd ever dreamt it would be and it brought with it desire that would have to go unfulfilled until the younger man was healed. House knew he could wait—he'd waited this long; two or three months was nothing in comparison.

Their kiss was interrupted by something hard and fast connecting with the side of House's head, sending him flying off of his seat and hard to the floor. He felt himself drift in the grayness between awake and unconscious.

**(TBC….)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Title: Wounded Birds**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing(s):** House/Wilson Pre-slash (possible slash later on)

**Genre:** Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sick!Wilson.

**Word Count:** 3518

**A/N & Warnings:** Based on a prompt given to me by _Christikat_: House finds out that Wilson was abused as a child. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to _George Stark II_ for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! Also posted at .

**Rating: M** for adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse. (Possible NC-17 later)

**Chapter Thirteen**

House fought against his mind's desire to close up shop and succumb to unconsciousness due to the blow to his head. He couldn't think clearly enough to understand why he had to remain awake at that point, only that it was critical that he so so. Gradually he began to push past the grey like a plane emerging from a storm cloud. He could hear male voices, one of which screamed, and an angry female voice that he quickly recognized as Nancy Wilson's.

House shook his head hard as if to clear away the last of the fog and scrambled to his feet to find Joe Wilson with his hands at his son's throat and Nancy trying desperately to pull him off. Red hot rage nearly blinded House again. He moved quickly over to Joe and with all of his strength slammed his fist into the older man's lower back, right where one of his kidneys was located. Wilson's father broke his hold on his son as he cried out in agony and arched his back. That drew his head further away from Wilson just long enough for House to flatten him with another crushing blow, a hook that connected under his chin and sent him backwards.

Nancy had backed away when House had taken charge, as it were. She wasn't hurt by Joe as he hurtled backwards and ended up on the floor. The older man lay motionless and neither House nor Wilson's mother went to check on him. Both were concerned only for the weakened man lying in his hospital bed choking and wheezing. Two nurses ran into the room upon hearing the commotion. One ran to assist House with Wilson while the other one knelt next to the unconscious man on the floor, feeling for a pulse and checking for breathing.

"Easy!" House told his best friend as he pushed Wilson's hands away from his throat and checked to see if his trachea had been injured. Satisfied that no real damage had been done he tried to coach his friend into breathing rhythmically again. Most of the oncologist's trouble was due to anxiety; Joe hadn't had enough time to inflict any real physical damage before the diagnostician had come to, thanks to Nancy's efforts to stop her husband from killing their son. House soothingly guided Wilson into breathing the oxygen-rich air through the mask more slowly and deeply. Nancy had moved to the other side of Wilson and was holding him, stroking his hair comfortingly. Huge tears rolled down her cheeks but she otherwise remained calm for her son's sake.

"Get security," House said to the nurse quickly, keeping his volume down.

"I called an alert before coming here," she answered with a nod, "I'll go see what's keeping them." The nurse left promptly.

"Dr. House," the other nurse addressed him from the floor. "Mr. Wilson's breathing is erratic and his pulse—!"

"I don't care!" he snapped, turning to glare at her.

"But doctor—!"

"Get a damned stretcher and take him to the ER!" House shouted. _I'm not lifting one fucking finger for that asshole!_ he added silently.

Nurse # 2 hurried from the room, calling for a trauma cart and a stretcher before she was completely out.

"House," Wilson whispered hoarsely, lifting his mask slightly from his face.

Shaking his head House told him, "He tried to kill you!"

However, Wilson was undaunted. He looked with pleading eyes at the diagnostician. The older man sighed, amazed that Wilson could still care for that monster after all that Joe had done to him. He glanced at Nancy, whose expression was blank; she had averted her eyes from his.

Sighing, House nodded and murmured to the man he loved, "For you." He rose stiffly to his feet and limped over to Joe's side without his cane. The pain in his ruined thigh screamed at him as he half-knelt next to the unconscious man and checked his vitals for himself. He wasn't in good shape at all. It occurred to House that the upper cut may have cause brain or other CNS injury of some kind. He was thinking thus as two nurses and the attending intensivist arrived with the cart and stretcher.

"What happened?" the intensivist demanded curtly of House. The latter stood slowly and backed away to give the trauma team room to work.

"He hit me and then attacked the patient, trying to choke him. I had to hit him to stop him from strangling his son to death," House explained coolly. "He may have C-spinal injury."

"That must have been one hell of a punch," a voice said from just outside the open door. House looked to Cuddy, who was flanked by two security guards. Though her expression was serious there was no anger there for the diagnostician. Her eyes met his with understanding; she looked down at the senior Wilson with disgust. "Is James okay?"

"Physically, yeah," was all that House said in reply. The intensivist and team wrapped a cervical collar around Joe Wilson's neck and carefully rolled him onto a backboard before lifting it and the man onto the stretcher. Nurse # 2 left with the stretcher and the attending, helping Wilson's father breathe with a bag and mask. Cuddy sent the security guards with them.

"I have to go with your father," Nancy said to Wilson, and kissed him tenderly on the forehead.

"I know," Wilson managed to say in acknowledgement. "Go."

His mother hesitated in front of House on her way out. She went up to him and hugged him gently, kissing his cheek the same way she'd kissed Wilson.

"Thank you, Greg," she whispered.

House nodded, hugging her carefully back. He couldn't help but savor her embrace, feeling comforted and affirmed by it. She didn't hate him for injuring her husband.

She broke the hug and then allowed her fingers to ghost over the bruise developing on his cheekbone. She frowned slightly at the sight of it. Nancy left the room and Cuddy quickly joined her on her way.

House immediately returned to Wilson's side, sitting on the edge of the bed. His blue eyes ran a quick diagnostic over his best friend and then sighed silently. His body began to tremble slightly when he realized just how close he came to losing the younger man once again. If he hadn't kissed Wilson just then…

"Stop it," Wilson whispered, lifting his mask. He eyed the older man knowingly. "Quit blaming yourself."

House fought back a smirk. Wilson was capable of reading him nearly as well as he could read the oncologist. He reached to him and gently ran his fingers through his best friend's soft brown hair, the hair he'd admired for years and had wanted to touch like this so many times in the past.

"When I saw him strangling you…" House told Wilson, his husky voice drifting off as a lump formed in his throat preventing him from saying anything more.

Wilson said nothing. His good arm stretched towards the diagnostician and he laid his hand on his scruffy cheek. His thumb traced the bruise on House's cheekbone. House closed his eyes and pressed his face against that hand. Pleasant shivers ran down his spine and his heart felt like it was swelling in his chest. He loved Wilson so much that it hurt.

"Lay with me," the oncologist murmured sleepily. The excitement of the past half-an-hour had exhausted him in his already weakened state, in spite of the trauma inflicted upon him.

He didn't have to ask twice. Wilson moved over slightly while trying not to jostle his broken limbs in order to give House room to lie pressed up next to his left side. The older man was careful to avoid the oxygen tube, IV lines and monitor leads and he lay down slowly so as not to bump his best friend and cause him undue pain and suffering. House gently wrapped an arm around Wilson's torso, watching his face for any sign that he was hurting him. Large, loving brown eyes gazed back at him. House relaxed and felt the other man relax as well.

"I love you, Wilson," House whispered into his ear, pulling up the blankets over the both of them and closing his eyes.

"I love you, too," Wilson whispered back before surrendering to sleep.

**(~*~)**

The sleepless nights keeping vigil over Wilson had had their toll on him and House had fallen asleep shortly after the younger man had. He was awakened by a hand squeezing his arm and then rubbing it gently but briskly. His eyes fluttered open and for a moment he had no idea where he was. That quickly changed as he became more awake and looked towards the owner of the hand. It was Nancy Wilson. She had a warm smile on her face to greet him.

"You two look so sweet together," she told House. "I almost didn't wake you but I thought you should know that Joe was taken for emergency surgery a little while ago."

While House didn't give a flying fuck about what happened to her husband he knew that Wilson did. Besides, he didn't want to be facing criminal charges should anything cause the senior Wilson to fail.

"For what?" he asked huskily, frowning and then clearing his throat. Ever so carefully he withdrew his arm from around the oncologist and rose from a laying position to a sitting one with his long legs dangling over the side. House pulled the blanket up over Wilson's shoulders again. The other man stirred but didn't wake. "What injuries did he sustain?"

"A broken spine at vertebra C-4 the ER doctor told me," she answered. "All that means to me is that it's somewhere in his neck. It hadn't cut his spinal cord so they needed to hurry and repair the damage before it had the opportunity to do so."

House sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hands and staring at the floor because he couldn't look the woman in the face. He'd nearly killed her husband. How could he ever look at her again? How could he ever look at Wilson again? Cursing under his breath he looked at the bruised knuckles of his right hand. His hands were supposed to heal, not injure, though this wasn't the first time they'd inflicted pain; while he wasn't sorry for protecting Wilson he felt incredibly guilty about nearly killing his dad. Would his best friend ever be able to forgive him?

"That's a tricky procedure," House told her. "Mrs. Wilson, I—"

"Nancy," she corrected him gently.

House couldn't bring himself to say her name or even to look at her so he stared at the floor instead. "I never intended—! I was only thinking about protecting Wilson."

Nancy placed a hand under the diagnostician's chin and lifted his face so that he was looking at her. "You saved my son's life. I know that. You have nothing to feel guilty about! If I'd only done something over twenty-five years ago—!" A strangled sob left her throat as her free hand flew to her mouth and tears wet her eyes. She was the one to look away in shame now. She wiped at the tears but they kept rolling down her cheeks as she struggled to maintain her composure. "When Joe found out about James and Aaron he punished James by beating on him so badly!"

Sighing, House nodded slowly. "I know. Wilson told me."

She nodded, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "That night all I could do was hold James in my arms and weep. I couldn't believe that Joe would be so cruel! I thought about loading James into the car along with his brothers while Joe slept and just fleeing. I remembered that damned bird and didn't want my baby to end up just like it! But I didn't do it—because I was a coward. I had nowhere to go, I couldn't care for three sons all on my own and my parents never would have taken us in temporarily. They would have told me to stop being sinful and to return to my husband. They would have called Joe and turned us in, I knew they would. So I did nothing, and then, when Joe took James to camp…well, I knew it wasn't a normal camp, though I really didn't know what kinds of things they did to the boys and men sent there for 'treatment.' James came home so…different. There was something about him that was missing; vitality had left him and he became secretive, afraid, watching over his shoulder constantly. He strove almost desperately to please his father and me and drove himself so hard that he nearly had a breakdown.

"Then he met Sam and Joe was thrilled, at first, but I wasn't. I could just look at my son and know that his happy smile was fake, that he'd been faking just about everything since treatment." She sighed, brushing tears off of her face almost angrily. "When I first learned that Aaron had died—"

House looked at her suddenly, his eyes flashing in surprise. "He died?"

Nancy nodded. "A couple of days after he and James were discovered having sex by Aaron's father, Aaron was in a terrible car accident. He flipped his father's car while driving around a sharp bend and it rolled down a steep embankment. It exploded. All that remained of him afterward were a few bones and teeth…I never told James. He was so sensitive, I was afraid it would kill him to know. I've never said this to another soul before now, Greg, but I'm convinced Aaron's car accident wasn't actually an accident at all. He was a very responsible boy. He wouldn't have been driving so recklessly with his father's car!" She sighed, shook her head and closed her eyes. A moment later she murmured, "You must hate me, Greg. I know I do."

House shook his head slowly. He was frustrated that Nancy hadn't run after Wilson's beating but he knew that it would have been very hard for her to make it on her own. The diagnostician's own mother had at least once found herself in the same quandary; he'd hated her for awhile for not doing more to protect him from John House. It wasn't until he was older that he realized that nothing was as simple as it appeared on the surface; life was made up of shades of grey with only a hint of black and white appearing occasionally here and there. His psychiatrist, Dr. Nolan, had helped him come to terms with that.

"I don't hate you," House told her. He knew that she had been in just as much danger from Joe Wilson as her son had been. She'd made a decision she thought was best at the time.

"Neither do I," Wilson told her. He lay awake, listening in silence to the exchange between his mother and House. The older man wondered just how much the younger had heard; when he looked at him Wilson's eyes were gleaming with unshed tears. "I knew you loved me, Mom." He sighed.

"You can't go back to Joe," House told Nancy even as he grasped Wilson's trembling hand and held it tightly. "You opposed him and his attack on Wilson. He won't be happy about that."

"Don't worry," she assured the two men. "I may have been too much of a coward to leave him before but I'm not now. I'll never be able to forgive him for what he did to James." She moved closer to her son and then leaned down to caress his face and placed a kiss on his brow. "I know I let you down back then, honey. I'm sorry."

"You've never let me down," Wilson insisted, smiling up at her, "ever."

"Well as sickeningly sentimental as this Hallmark moment is," House spoke up, mildly sarcastic, nodding towards the door, "welcome back to reality."

Both Wilson and Nancy looked towards the door. Standing on the other side of the glass were two members of the Mercer County Sheriff's Department.

**(~*~)**

For over an hour the two cops questioned House, Wilson, and Nancy individually about what happened in the ICU cubicle earlier that morning. It was hard for House to stand outside the room peering through the glass wall as Wilson was forced to recount to the police how his own father had tried to kill him. The oncologist appeared to be putting on a great act of control and composure but House knew him too well to think that Joe Wilson's attack on first House and then him had had no emotional impact on the younger man. To protect House and Nancy as well as his own pride Wilson would stuff his true feelings about the event down deeply into himself and put on his million-dollar smile until he was alone, at which point it would escape him in the dark in the form of tremors and shivers, nightmares separated by quiet sobs and incoherent words and moans. This would last for a very long time before he once again had a good night's sleep. House and Wilson had stayed with each other often enough to know, especially over the ten or so months House had stayed with his best friend after his released from Mayfield. He remembered not only Wilson's late night whispers to his dead girlfriend but also the suffering in his sleep of things House knew he had only just begun to learn about.

House was glad that he hadn't killed Wilson's father outright, and not only for legal reasons. He hadn't wanted to be the person that came to the oncologist's mind every time he thought about his father's death and how it had happened. He didn't want someone's death to ride on his conscience like Amber's still did, and House hadn't really caused her to die. He knew that Joe Wilson's death would haunt him even worse than hers. Finally, he didn't know if Wilson would have been able to forgive him for being involved in the death of another person in his life. House didn't care for the senior Wilson's sake, however. As far as he was concerned the ground could open up and swallow the bigoted monster for all he cared.

House's agitation must have been more apparent than he would have cared to admit because he felt a gentle hand come to rest on his shoulder. He glanced sideways at Nancy Wilson who had come to stand next to him.

"You don't need to worry yourself sick, dear," she told him. "It's going to be alright. He's going to be alright."

"You don't know that!" House responded a little more sharply than he'd intended. Perhaps he did feel more resentment towards her than he'd thought. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he said to her. "I'm just tired and this has to have affected him…"

Nancy nodded with understanding. It was as close to an apology as House was capable of giving and like her son she seemed to instinctively know that.

"I'll tell you how I do know that James will be alright," she told the diagnostician softly, her voice only loud enough for him to hear. "It's because he has you. Don't roll your eyes, Greg! There are better things to do with those beautiful eyes than that! It's true…it's always been true. He's survived three divorces and the death of Amber because you were there for him."

"He's done more for me than I've ever done for him," House told her sotto voce.

"Are you sure about that?" Nancy asked him, sounding skeptical. "You've helped him come out of the prison he'd had imposed upon him for so long. It was only a bit of his own fault for holding onto the image he'd been beaten into portraying all these years. Now he can be free to be himself—his true self—again. You'll be there for him as he rediscovers himself, the good and the bad."

House nodded. He would be. Nobody was going to hurt his Wilson the way he'd been hurt by his father ever again because they would have to kill the diagnostician first to get the chance.

**(TBC…)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Title: Wounded Birds**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing(s): **House/Wilson Pre-slash (possible slash later on)

**Genre:** Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sick!Wilson.

**Word Count:** 4178

**A/N & Warnings: **Based on a prompt given to me by Christikat: House finds out that Wilson was abused as a child. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to George Stark II for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! Also posted at .

**Rating: M (NC-17) **for explicit adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse. (Possible NC-17 later)

**Chapter Fourteen**

Nine and a half weeks of hospitalization and five surgeries later James Wilson was given the green light to go home. His bones were mending well and his internal injuries were, for the most part, healed. He was stronger and alert, eager to get back to work and out of bed. In fact, he was so impatient to get back to normal that he was driving House up the wall. He hobbled around the loft with a distinct limp trying to do things he wasn't yet able to do, following House around to inspect the cleaning and cooking and constantly complaining about being crippled up and unable to get out and about and live life again. House was very thankful to have Nancy Wilson stay at the loft for two weeks following Wilson's discharge to help care for her son while House was working.

As for Joe Wilson?—well, once he had been released from the hospital he he'd been arrested on two counts of assault and battery and Nancy had refused to bail him out of jail. He had managed to get his sister to put up bond but neither his wife nor middle son had had anything to do with him. In fact, on one day that House wasn't working, when Wilson was still in the hospital, he'd driven Nancy to a divorce lawyer Wilson had suggested so she could file for official separation, a restraining order against Joe, and begin the process of divorce.

The diagnostician and the oncologist hadn't really talked about the logistics of their relationship before the latter's release from the hospital. While Nancy was helping out she stayed at the loft in what was once House's bedroom and House stayed in his apartment to sleep. After the first week of this Wilson's mother called a meeting at her son's dining room table after dinner.

"I'm not five years old, you know," she told the two men. "I won't wilt like a flower if you share a bed. It's silly for you, Greg, to be heading back to your apartment every night to sleep in a cold bed all alone when you could be here snuggling in a warm bed with James. I have three sons of my own," she stared at Wilson pointedly. "I know about sex and have even enjoyed it myself."

House smirked in amusement and looked at Wilson. The younger man's face had turned a crimson red and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He looked adorable in his mortification. After all, what guy enjoyed listening to his mother talking about her own sexual experiences? Well, there was Oedipus…

The next evening House brought a suitcase with him to the loft after work. He worked hard not to show his excitement over this first night with Wilson. Of course they'd shared the same bed before and House had spent a few nights cuddled up with Wilson at the hospital but this was different. This evening they would be at home, sharing a bed as a couple in their home. If House had his way, however, there wouldn't be a lot of sleeping done!

Wilson worked side by side with his mother in the kitchen; it was his first time cooking since before the accident and the smile on his face told House that he was finally feeling better emotionally as well as physically. They were preparing his mother's specialty—corned beef brisket—but for House's sake they were holding off on the cabbage since it was green and leafy, two things that turned the diagnostician off from eating. House sat at the island nursing a bottle of beer and pretending to be annoyed by the teasing he was receiving from the two Wilsons.

In actual fact, House hadn't felt this at ease and…well, happy, in a long, long time. Some of the jokes at his expense actually were funny, his leg was behaving itself for the most part and Nancy, when she was preparing the batter for the cake she was baking, snuck him both beaters from the mixer when Wilson was distracted. Wilson never let him lick the beaters, the party-pooper!

However, it didn't take the oncologist long to catch him licking at the mixing implement; both hands went to his hips and he looked at House, slightly annoyed.

"How did you get ahold of those sitting way over there?" Wilson demanded. House gave the beater an exaggerated lick up the length of one of the hoops slowly and suggestively, watching as Wilson's face turned pink, and then pointed at Nancy as the woman was slipping the cake pans into the upper oven.

Nancy stood up to her full height and turned to face her son. "I gave them to him. Oh, don't be so fussy, James!"

"Yeah," House parroted with a smile, "don't be so fussy, James!"

Wilson gave him a withering look before telling his mother, "Mom, you're enabling his bad habits!"

"Gee," House chirped, giving the younger man a knowing look, "it must run in the family."

Before Wilson could throw the wooden spoon he had in his hand at him House hopped off of the bar stool and hobbled surprisingly quickly for a cripple into the living room to watch TV until dinner was ready.

After dinner was eaten and the dishes washed and put away Nancy surprised both men with word that she was going to a movie with a nurse she'd made friends with at the hospital during Wilson's recuperation. Afterward they were going for coffee and dessert so she told them not to wait up. The nurse, an older woman from the ICU, picked her up. On her way out the door she looked at House, smiled slightly and winked. Wilson hadn't seen her and was confused when House began to chuckle for apparently no reason at all.

"What's so funny?" demanded the oncologist curiously.

"Don't you see what your mother is doing?" House asked him, raising an eyebrow playfully. He stepped up to the younger man slowly until he was well inside Wilson's personal space. There was no complaint made about it. "This is our first night together here as a couple and she's giving us privacy…" House wrapped wrappedhis arms around Wilson's waist and pulled him closer until they were pressed together.

"Oh," Wilson replied, heat causing his chocolate brown eyes to simmer. He reached up and placed his right hand on House's shoulder while his left ended up at the back of House's neck. "That was thoughtful…of her…"

Their lips met, barely brushing at first but then quickly deepening and growing much more passionate. They had both been waiting a very long time for this and now that the time had arrived to indulge they kissed and held each other hungrily, their hands doing their talking when their mouths were otherwise engaged. House moaned into Wilson's mouth when the oncologist grabbed his ass through his jeans and began to squeeze it in the most delicious ways. He couldn't get over how soft the younger man's lips were, how supple yet demanding at the same time. He tasted like red wine and chocolate cake and was absolutely delicious. House thrust his tongue deeply into his lover's mouth, dominantly wrestling with Wilson's tongue, caressing, probing, tasting, and sucking. Wilson was no fading flower either, pushing back with his tongue into House's mouth and returning the favor.

House pulled Wilson tighter against him, savoring the heat coming from the other body and blending together with his. Fully erect himself, House could feel Wilson's cock getting hard as well. Feeling this lump against his hip was incredibly erotic. He began to grind his pelvis against the younger man's. The friction generated between the two of them felt unbelievably good and this time it was Wilson who moaned, adding his own grinding to House's. It felt like sparks and surges of electricity running up and down House's spine. He felt the blood from his head, limbs, and body filling his lower abdomen, and he was harder than he'd been in years. The arousal was building so quickly that he knew he wasn't going to last much longer unless he moved things in a slightly different direction.

Wilson was obviously reading his mind. "Let's go to bed, now."

House answered with a nod and then led the way. They were quite the pair heading to the bedroom: limping, panting, and unable to keep their hands off of each other for more than a second or two. This was the fulfillment of House's dreams and if he hadn't actually been feeling Wilson's hands on him and his on Wilson he wouldn't have been able to believe it was really happening.

Once in the bedroom House pushed the door shut; they immediately began to tear each other's clothes off with grunts and unintelligible words and the odd expletive. Fingers fumbled with buttons, accidentally tearing a few off, and with zippers, lowering them with care but hastily as well. Hands explored exposed flesh as it appeared and clothing disappeared. House couldn't get over how incredibly sexy Wilson's body was and how soft his skin felt against his own. Wilson gently pushed House onto the bed. The diagnostician scooted himself back towards the headboard and slowly Wilson followed after him. They were both aware of each other's weaknesses and painful spots and were careful to avoid aggravating anything and thus spoiling the mood.

They explored each other for awhile, tickling, kissing, licking, and nipping. House sighed when Wilson kissed his temple and then slowly made his way down his jaw line and neck. They were open, wet, wonderful ministrations of his mouth and felt like an all-consuming fire against House's skin, tingling all the way to his groin. The younger man sucked on House's Adam's apple, bringing a chuckle out of the older man coming from deep in his belly; a hiss escaped him as Wilson began to roll one of his nipples between two fingers and then once it had hardened gave it a hard pinch that was so amazingly erotic. Then Wilson took the same nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue before sucking. House's cock twitched and he arched his back; he was so incredibly hard that it nearly ached and all he wanted was for some stimulation there.

As Wilson was paying such wonderful attention to House the diagnostician ran his hands up and down his lover's shoulders, arms, and neck. He twirled and combed his fingers through the silky dark hair. He was beginning to moan with more frequency now but he didn't notice. Wilson did, however, because he began to alter his kisses and touches according to House's physical and verbal responses to them.

Bonnie was right, House thought, surprised that he could even string a short cogent thought together. Wilson is an incredible lover.

House was doubly convinced of that fact when his best friend, his lover, took House's length into his mouth. If House believed in God he would have been thanking him profusely for blessing Wilson with such an incredibly talented mouth. As he teased, licked, and sucked the oncologist caressed the older man's testicles. The stimulation was so strong that House lost all capability to think and simply experienced and reacted. He was so close to coming, so very, very close. He began to thrust into Wilson's mouth involuntarily, groaning in frustration, want, needing release. So good…so, so good…so close, so close…!

"Oh Jesus, Wilson…Wils—Wilson…Jimmy!" House cried out as he came, ejaculating so hard into Wilson's mouth that it almost hurt. He lost all sense of time and reason in the incredible high of the orgasm.

When his mind returned to him and his orgasm waned the diagnostician became aware of the fact that Wilson was lying on his side, his head propped up on his hand and elbow on the mattress. His smile was smug but there was wanton need in his eyes. He needed to be satisfied and he needed House to help him with that.

"God, you're amazing," House told him huskily, his hand going up to the younger man's face and cupping it. Wilson turned his face into the palm of his hand and then bent down to cover House's mouth with his own. They both kept their eyes open, staring into each other's.

"Greg," Wilson whispered against his mouth, "I need you, baby…."

House nodded. "Are you up to entering me? Or would you rather…?"

"I want to be inside you," Wilson replied, his voice deep and lusty. "I want to feel you around me."

House nodded. He wanted to feel Wilson fill him up, to become as close to being one with him as he could possibly be. He watched as Wilson went to his bedside table and took a tube of lubricant out of the drawer. He squeezed some of it into the palm of his hand and rubbed his hands together to warm it before slathering it over his hard cock, hissing as his hands created friction and pleasure. He applied the remaining lube to House's entrance. The older man, on cue, widened his legs. His lover slowly and gently prepared him. It wasn't like it was the first time House had ever had sex with another man and he'd both fucked and been fucked, but it had been a long time and Wilson's attention and care warmed House's heart and reminded him just how much he loved this man and why.

When Wilson entered him it was slow, careful. He went shallow at first, adjusting his thrusts by the expression on House's face, the sounds he made, to determine whether or not he was hurting him. It did hurt at first, but House didn't care. It was a hurt that he could push past and on the other side was the reward of the intimacy and the incredible pleasure of the sexual act itself. Wilson had positioned himself so that he could face him; watch him as he made love to him. Before long Wilson was thrusting slowly but rhythmically, burying his complete length inside House. Just as he knew it would the pain gave way to the pleasure and House reveled in every thrust and withdrawal. He loved to watch Wilson as his pleasure increased and he gave himself to the act, to House.

Reaching out, House caressed Wilson's face and neck. Wilson leaned forward enough to pull House closer and kiss him hungrily. House found himself being drawn into the depths of his lover's soft, loving, hot eyes.

"I love you," Wilson told him haltingly as the pressure and need for release built in him. "House, I love you. I really do, baby…"

The diagnostician couldn't help but grin. He wasn't one for pet names or endearments, but hearing Wilson call him 'baby' and tell him that he loved him over and over again…it was perfect. However, baby was going to remain between just the two of them.

"I love you, too," he told the younger man in all sincerity. Those words were usually impossible for him to utter, yet here with Wilson they came easily, naturally, like breathing.

Wilson started panting and moaning. He changed the angle of his thrusts slightly and hit House's prostate just right. The older man groaned ecstatically, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head. He forced himself to keep looking at Wilson and then he took his hardening cock in his hand and began to stroke it in rhythm with Wilson's thrusts. He was getting close again— which was a little surprising for him to be ready again that soon—but the stimulation against his prostate combined with the stroking of his cock pushed him towards the brink again. Wilson was moaning loudly now with every thrust. The look of pure, unadulterated lust on his face was so beautiful that House didn't want to close his eyes or look away for anything. His Jimmy…His Jimmy was so sublimely beautiful, so perfect in his cobalt blue eyes.

House followed Wilson over the edge into orgasmic rapture a moment or two later and it was more incredible than his first orgasm if that was even possible. The oncologist was the first of the two to get his wits back about him. He rolled to House's left and lay on his back next to his lover, allowing his heart rate and breathing to slow to a more normal range. He then rolled toward his lover again.

Feeling lips caress his own and then Wilson partially draping himself over him and holding him tight, his head resting on his chest, House opened his eyes. When had he shut them? He couldn't remember. He realized that Wilson was holding him. House smiled and wrapped his arms around him and held on for dear life, as if he were afraid of having Wilson suddenly pull away and escape, never to return. There was desperation there in his embrace; tenderness and love, too. They held each other like that in silence for a long time, comfortable just holding and relishing the warmth and presence of each other.

House shivered slightly and immediately Wilson sat up and drew a comforter up around them.

"Thanks," House whispered and kissed the top of his best friend's head. "That…that was better than anything I've ever experienced…fuck, you're good, Jimmy!"

Wilson chuckled softly. "Why, thank you, Greg. You're pretty incredible yourself."

"That?—incredible?" House replied. "I was holding back, afraid I was going to hurt you. Just wait until I can completely have my way with you…then you'll know incredible."

Sighing contentedly, Wilson told him, "I can't wait." He smiled. "I'm glad you're a cuddler after all."

"Just don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to keep," the diagnostician told him. They were silent again for a long time. Something that had been on House's mind for weeks came to the fore and he figured this was as good a time as any to bring it up. "When your mother and I were talking about Aaron in your hospital room weeks ago…how much of our conversation did you actually hear?"

Wilson shrugged his shoulder. "Next to nothing, really. Why?"

House hesitated for a moment longer and then dove in headfirst. "Do you know what happened to Aaron after your dad took you home from his place after you two were caught having sex? It was probably the last time you saw him before your father dragged you to that hell-hole they had the nerve to call camp."

A heavy, sad sigh escaped the younger man before he answered. "I have no idea what happened to him. When I returned home again his family had moved away. I asked Mom about him but she told me that it was best not to ask too many questions about it. I remember being frustrated with that answer. In my junior year of pre-med I tried to find him. I even hired a private detective but it was as if he'd disappeared off of the face of the earth. I eventually gave up, figuring that he had disappeared for a reason and didn't want to be found by me or anyone else." He sighed again and swallowed hard. His arms closed around House a little tighter. "Why do you want to know? Oh my God!" He pushed himself away from House to a half-sitting position and looked down at the older man. "Did my mother tell you what happened to him?"

"Yes," House answered right away. "Before you get angry and pouty on me, let me tell you that I wanted to tell you sooner but I didn't know if you were well enough to hear it, so I waited—but I always had the intention of telling you."

Wilson looked down at him skeptically at first but then gradually his expression softened. "I believe you. Tell me, Greg. I think I'm strong enough now."

Nodding, House said, "I'll tell you on one condition—you have to lie back down and cuddle with me longer."

That condition sounded just as ridiculous and sappy in House's ears as it did to Wilson if his grin was any indication. That was okay. He loved Wilson enough to be sappy around him occasionally.

"It's a deal," Wilson assured him with a nod.

House's expression sobered. He took one of Wilson's hands in his, lacing their fingers together. "The official story was that he was driving his father's car, was going too fast for the road conditions and crashed through a barrier and down a steep embankment. The car exploded and there were only a few…bones…left. I didn't buy that story any more than your mother did so…I called Lucas and hired him to dig into it."

"You called Lucas?" Wilson asked incredulously. "House, Cuddy dumped him for you—"

"And I dumped Cuddy," House interrupted, smirking. "For Lucas that was enough to make up for the bad blood. That and a hefty bonus on his normal fee. Just before you were discharged from the hospital he gave me the name of a Mrs. Penny Sawyer in Hartford, Connecticut. Does her name ring a bell?"

Wilson frowned as he raked his brain but only took him a few seconds to come up with the answer. "That must be little Penelope, Aaron's little sister. She was ten years younger than Aaron—Penelope was no older than six when it happened."

House nodded knowingly. "Well, she's thirty-four, married to a CPA with two point four kids and a dog, a four bedroom house in the suburbs and a two car garage. She told me what really happened to her brother."

House paused to take a breath during which Wilson murmured pleadingly, "Please tell me what happened to him."

The expression on Wilson's face was a sad one. It was obvious just how much Aaron had meant to Wilson but the diagnostician felt no jealousy in this case. He knew just how much his Jimmy loved him and there was no reason to fear a rival anymore. So House told him.

"His father spent their savings on hiring some people who knew how to stage the car accident and Aaron's death," House told him, his voice uncharacteristically soft and gentle. "That's because he was a lot harsher in his punishment of Aaron than your father was and he didn't survive his beating."

Wilson bit his bottom lip and looked down at their hands laced together rather than up into his lover's eyes. His dark eyes teared up a little but the oncologist was able to blink them back. He took a deep breath, let it out quickly through his mouth and then cleared his throat.

"Then what happened?" he asked House.

"Penny said that after the publicity of the staged car accident died down their family moved very suddenly to Connecticut. It was years later, before her father died, that he confessed to her what had really happened to Aaron and where he'd actually been buried."

"Where?" Wilson demanded softly.

"Just outside of Hartford," House told him. "I don't have a case right now so I told Cuddy I was taking a personal day. She gave me a hassle but we argued it out. If you're up to it, I thought we might take a little road trip tomorrow."

Wilson's eyes teared up again, but he smiled affectionately this time.

"Hey," House grumbled, "stop being a girl—quit the water works! I don't want to get wet when you follow through on the agreement we have."

Chuckling a little, Wilson shook his head and wiped the tears away on the comforter and then lay down again. House wrapped his best friend and lover in his arms.

"I love you, Jimmy," House whispered into the younger man's hair.

"I love you, too. Thank you for understanding," Wilson murmured with a sigh and closed his eyes.

They lay for a while in companionable silence before first Wilson, then House, fell asleep.

**(TBC…)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Title: Wounded Birds**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing(s):** House/Wilson Pre-slash (possible slash later on)

**Genre:** Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sick!Wilson.

**Word Count:**

**A/N & Warnings:** Based on a prompt given to me by Christikat: House finds out that Wilson was abused as a child. Thanks for the idea! Spoilers for all of Season 6. Huge thanks to George Stark II for her Beta services—I really appreciate it! Also posted at .

**Rating: M (NC-17)** for explicit adult subject matter and the mentioning of child abuse. (Possible NC-17 later)

**Chapter Fifteen**

They took the oncologist's car but House did the driving on their trip to Connecticut because Wilson's right leg and ankle weren't ready for the task. It didn't bother him but they had to stop a few times along the way for House to get out and walk around to prevent his leg from cramping up. For most of the drive Wilson was pensive and silent; House knew his lover's mind was reliving both the good times he'd spent with his first love and the horror that had befallen both of them. House knew all too well what it was like to be abused by a parent and how the scars never completely healed from it. What he couldn't empathize with Wilson about was the murder of a person he'd been in love with. To be honest he didn't want to be able to empathize with that, ever. However he did want to know how to comfort his best friend, but he simply didn't. This trip was the only thing he had been able to think of to help.

Judging by the look of grief in Wilson's eyes House began to wonder if it wasn't a mistake instead. He was tempted to turn around at the next junction and go home, but something he couldn't recognize kept him from doing that. Besides, he reasoned, at least this would bring closure for the younger man.

"Wilson," House said, breaking the silence, "we're getting close to Hartford. Which exit are we supposed to take?" When Wilson didn't reply House said again, a little bit louder, "Wilson! Pilot to navigator!"

Realizing that his lover was talking to him, Wilson was a little startled. "What was that, House?"

The driver rolled his eyes. "I said, we're coming up on Hartford. Which exit do we take? You're the one with the map, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, right," Wilson replied distractedly and picked up the road map on his lap. He began to look carefully at the signs they passed and then back down at the directions and map.

"Uh, the ninth one," Wilson answered. "Have we passed one yet?"

"Not yet," House replied.

"Okay, yeah. Good," Wilson told him. "There should be one coming up in the next couple of minutes. According to the directions Penelope gave you we take the ninth one we encounter and we head east after that."

House nodded in acknowledgement and then asked, "Are you sure you're up to this?"

"As sure as I'll ever be," Wilson answered, shifting a little in his seat. "Are you still okay with this?"

"Yep."

Silence again.

"I'm scared shitless," Wilson admitted quietly, staring out of the front window and carefully avoiding House's eyes.

"There's nothing to be scared of, Wilson," House assured him, trying to sound confident and not quite succeeding. "Your father is nowhere around and Aaron's is dead. Besides, even if they were able to hurt you they'd have to go through me first. You have nothing to be afraid of."

Wilson looked at House fondly. "It's not that. I'm scared about seeing Penelope again. She was just a little girl the last time I saw her. She may not even recognize me. Hell, I probably won't recognize her. You talked to her…does she know why Aaron was killed? Does she know that he and I were lovers?"

"She knows everything," House told him with a nod. "What she didn't figure out on her own her father told her on his deathbed. It takes real guts to admit to murder when you're seconds from dying anyway."

Ignoring the sarcasm the oncologist inquired, "Did she seem like she was…okay with it?"

"It doesn't really matter if she's okay with it," the older man told him frankly. "It was what it was. The past can't be changed whether she likes it or not. She didn't make any indication one way or the other. She did say she was looking forward to seeing you again."

That piece of information seemed to relieve Wilson, who smiled a little and relaxed more in his seat. Seeing that helped House to relax as well.

"I'm looking forward to seeing her again too," Wilson acknowledged, nodding slightly. "I'm sorry for the way I've been behaving. I guess I've known for a while now that Aaron was probably dead but having it confirmed…well, it feels like it happened yesterday. Look, I know you're uncomfortable talking about this kind of thing, but I just want you to know how much it means to me for you to have arranged this and accompanying me today…words can't begin to describe it."

House produced a small smile and he looked lovingly at the other man for a moment before returning his eyes to the road. He reached with his arm and caressed his lover's face. He wanted to tell him that he would do anything for the younger man if it meant he would be happy and healthy but saying that just wasn't his style. Doing things for Wilson was the only way the diagnostician knew how to express to him just how much he loved him. Words were far too inadequate.

Trying to break the seriousness of the moment with a little levity House told him, "You can show me tonight after we get home just how appreciative you are." He waggled his eyebrows for effect.

Wilson smirked in response and although it wasn't as much as House had hoped, it would have to do.

They managed to find their way to the upper middle class home of Roger and Penelope Sawyer. House parked the car right in front of the home. Both men climbed out and House was very happy to be able to stretch his legs. His ruined thigh was starting to really ache. He pulled his bottle of ibuprofen out of his jacket pocket and dumped three into his hand before putting the bottle away and dry-swallowing the tabs.

Wilson noticed. "You okay?" he asked the older man in concern.

"Same old same old," House told him with a half-shrug. They stood on the sidewalk looking up at the two-storey home and perfectly manicured lawn. "Still want to do this?"

After a moment of hesitation the younger man nodded. "Yes. Let's go."

House nodded in agreement. Wilson grabbed his hand before leading the way up to the door. The diagnostician's first reaction was to pull away but he quickly overruled that. If this was what gave the younger man the courage and comfort to see this through then he would give it to him. It seemed a little gay to House, but then he reminded himself that he was in love and in a sexual relationship with his male best friend which meant that he was, in fact, gay. He squeezed Wilson's hand gently only to receive the same back. He had to admit, it did feel nice, not that he would ever do so aloud.

Taking a deep breath, Wilson pressed the doorbell. After a few nerve-wracking seconds the door opened to reveal an attractive thirtyish woman with golden brown, shoulder length hair and grey eyes staring back at them. A girl that couldn't have been more than two hung on her leg and stared up at them without fear. The woman smiled expectantly as the door first opened to reveal the two doctors but as soon as she saw Wilson the smile broadened and warmed with recognition.

"James!" she said happily, "it's so good to see you again!"

Wilson's expression went from barely masked anxiety to relief. He smiled back. "Hi, Penelope. It's really good to see you again, too. Uh, this is my…partner…Dr. Greg House."

She looked up at House with the same warmth and extended a hand to him. "We've talked over the phone. It's nice to put a face to the voice. How do you do, Dr. House?"

House took her hand hesitantly and shook it briefly. Slightly smiling he nodded. "Good. Nice to meet you. You can drop the doctor and just call me House. That's what most people call me."

"Okay," she agreed. "Call me Penny. Please, come in!" The mother tried to step back to give her guests access to the house and only then seemed to realize the toddler was washanging on her leg. She gathered her daughter into her arms and allowed House and Wilson inside. "This is Abby," she told them, introducing her child. "Can you say hi, Abby?"

The girl shook her head and buried her face into the crook of her mother's neck.

"She's in the 'playing shy' stage," Penny said, shrugging. "I hope you don't mind hanging your own jackets on the coat rack while I put her down for her nap. Please, make yourself comfortable in the living room and I'll be right back."

The doctors did as they were told while she was gone. They sat on the overstuffed sofa. House was impressed with how clean the place was considering that she had the toddler and a son in first grade. There were a few toys scattered on the floor around a large playpen from the child throwing things out while she played (or protested her incarceration?) but otherwise everything was very neat and tidy. Penny had excellent taste; a simple, casual style that the diagnostician took to right away. A family picture sat in a silver frame on the fireplace mantel; it was a handsome, normal-looking family staring at the camera. Penny and her husband wore pleasant but not overly exuberant smiles, the son had a finger in his ear and a goofy expression and the daughter had turned her head to look up at her father just before the photo was taken. It wasn't perfect and that's probably what it was about it that appealed to him the most.

He glanced over at Wilson to see him fidgeting nervously.

"'Partner'?" House questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Would you prefer 'boyfriend' instead?" the oncologist asked him with a shrug. "Or is lover-boy better?"

House smirked at that. "Actually," he quipped, "I like the sound of 'butt-buddy' best."

That brought a chuckle from Wilson as well as a light blush to his face. "I don't think so. I can't see myself introducing you at some hospital function as my 'butt-buddy'."

"I think that would be the perfect place to call me that," the older man answered with a gleam in his eye, "especially with Cuddy within earshot."

Both men chuckled at that and were still chuckling when Penny entered the room.

"Sounds like I missed a good joke," she commented with a smile. "Look, I put a pot of coffee on just before you arrived. Can I get you some?"

"In a few minutes," Wilson told her. "First I'd like to catch up. The last time I saw you, you were this little girl playing hop-scotch and wandering around with a Barbie doll everywhere you went."

"I'm surprised you remember that," she replied, taking a seat in an armchair facing them. "That was a long time ago. Too long."

Nodding, Wilson said, "I often wondered what became of your family. By the time I got home you had already moved and I was never given a straight answer about where."

"Straight answers were few and far between back then," the woman said, nodding soberly. "I grew up thinking that the big brother I idolized died in an accidental car wreck. That's what both of my parents and all of my relatives told me. When my dad told me the truth before he died he said that he'd lied to protect Mom and me."

"He lied to protect his own ass," House muttered cynically, frowning. Penny nodded, looking over at the other man.

"You're right," she told them. "Dad asked me for my forgiveness so he could die in peace. I told him to go to hell and left his bedside. I couldn't even bring myself to go to his funeral. I mean, what kind of man is capable of murdering his own son?" She shuddered involuntarily and paused a moment before looking into Wilson's eyes, "I'm sorry for what was done to both of you. When I found out that you'd been sent to a special treatment camp I wanted to locate you and call you up but I was afraid that you wouldn't want to see me or that hearing from me would bring back horrible memories for you that you'd rather forget. I was very glad to hear from House about Aaron and you. I'm pleased you're here today, James. It's almost like having Aaron here, too." Her eyes shone a little but there was no overt display of emotion.

"Seeing you does the same thing for me," Wilson told her sincerely. "You look so much like him—only prettier."

House, feeling a little uncomfortable, like an outsider even though he knew neither of the other two meant to make him feel that way, shifted in his seat and then said, "That coffee smells really good."

Penny grinned at him, nodding and rising to her feet. "Why don't I go get you some? James?"

"I'd love some, thank you." he told her.

They continued to visit over coffee and an apple pie that she'd baked that morning. It was so good that House devoured three pieces as well as two large mugs of coffee. The talk was much lighter than before. Wilson and Penny really dominated the conversation and House listened for the most part, adding a thought or comment here or there. He preferred listening to the stories and jokes that were being made over talking anyway and it gave him an insight into an aspect of his lover and best friend that he hadn't had before. The more they visited the more he liked Penny; she was forthright and genuine, a 'what you see is what you get' person. She baked great pie, too.

Eventually it became time to head to the cemetery before the drive back to Princeton. Wilson promised to stay in contact with Aaron's little sister and gave her his own contact information. As he and House were leaving Penny gave both men a hug, catching House a little off-guard. He stiffened slightly but allowed her to hug him.

"You two reminded me of the happy memories of Aaron. Thank you," she told them with moist eyes.

"Thank you, Penny," Wilson told her, unshed tears causing his own eyes to glisten.

The drive to the public cemetery was a short one. Both men were for the most part quiet although House did, uncharacteristically, tell his lover, "I like her."

Looking at House with surprise Wilson smiled and nodded. "She must be someone special to receive such quick approval from Gregory House."

House shrugged, stifling a smile. "She bakes good pie."

It was a small cemetery but very well maintained in a peaceful, pretty location. They drove to the section that Penny had directed them to and parked. The weather was cooperating, the afternoon sun warm and encouraging. Birds chirped all around, landing and taking off from their perches on the grave markers; the buzz of the odd insect passed House's ear. Together they limped past row upon row of headstones until they came to the row that held Aaron's grave at the far end. According to Penny, Aaron's grave had gone for years without a grave marker of any kind and the only way she had been able to locate it was from an old plot map the cemetery keeper kept in his office. Aaron's final resting place now boasted a beautiful marble headstone with her brother's name boldly carved into it: Aaron Stanley Greenbaum, Beloved Son, Brother and Friend 1965-1981.

"I'll stay here," House told his best friend quietly, cupping Wilson's cheek with a hand and placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

Nodding with appreciation and understanding Wilson returned the kiss and then walked down the row on his own. House watched from a distance as the younger man stopped at the foot of Aaron's grave and just stood there, motionless and stoop-shouldered. After a few moments he walked up to the headstone and began to trace the letters spelling out his first love's name. Wilson's face was long, his eyes very sad. Lowering his head and closing his eyes, the oncologist remained that way for a while and occasionally House could see him take a huge, shuddering breath but otherwise he was still and there was no sound from his sobs.

It killed House to stand there and watch his lover grieve that way and he cursed the bigoted men who had cause this kind of pain for the man he loved. He wanted to limp over to Wilson and take him in his arms to comfort and protect him but refrained. Finally this was Wilson's chance to say good-bye to a friend and lover that had died decades before in such a pointless, horrible way and the diagnostician didn't want to interfere with that. He had to look down at his feet to keep himself from acting on his impulses.

When Wilson hurt so badly it caused House to hurt badly as well; this kind of empathy was something new and frightening for him and he wasn't certain how to deal with it in an appropriate way. In the past this was when he usually turned around and ran away from the uncomfortable emotions but he was tired of running and he would never abandon his lover when the younger man needed him to be there as he knew Wilson did.

House glanced up to see Wilson discreetly wiping his face with a handkerchief and then stuffing the cloth pack into his jacket pocket. The younger man looked up in House's direction. He waved for the older man to come to him. Taking a steadying breath, House carefully made his way over the uneven earth with his cane until he was standing next to his partner. He laced his fingers with Wilson's, needing the physical contact as much as the oncologist seemed to.

"Are you going to be okay?" House asked him. It was a question House had barely asked his entire life until he'd entered this enhanced version of his relationship with Wilson. Now it seemed to him like he was asking it all of the time. He hadn't cared enough for another person to ask it so much before him.

Wilson nodded. "Yeah, I am. I finally got my chance to say good-bye. I was denied that before." He smiled fondly at House, a smile that reassured the older man and eased his own anxiety. "If you like Penny, you would have liked Aaron. She's so much like him that it was like seeing his ghost today."

"Could he bake pie, too?" House asked him quietly, lifting an eyebrow.

The question caused the younger man to laugh lightly and the sound of it was like music to the diagnostician's ears. Wilson shook his head. "I don't think so," he answered.

"Well, I guess nobody's perfect," House said with a smirk. "Ready to go?"

Wilson nodded. "Yeah, I'm done here. Let's go for dinner somewhere that serves great big steaks. I'm starving."

"Sounds good," House agreed as they walk back toward the car. "I'll treat."

Wilson stopped in his tracks and looked at his lover in amazement. "What's the occasion?"

"Hey, watch it," House frowned. "Keep that up and I'll withdraw the offer."

Wilson held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. No more teasing."

"Good," House told him with a curt nod and they continued walking again. "Besides, I have to butter you up a little before springing on you just how you can pay me back tonight for my generosity!"

Wilson gave him a look of disbelief mixed with a little bit of horror, causing House to smile deviously. Yes, he thought to himself contentedly, this was definitely going to be fun!

**~fin~**


End file.
